There’s So Much I Can’t Word;

let alone write.  The feeling-world of change inside my mind and it’s window on a year.  Window on travel, on my habits and values, on the immensities of population and poverty.  The sizes of scale; the healings and washing through of loss and newness.  There’s so much inside cells of my hands that I am trying to speak.  So, when I can’t, I watch it.  Watch the left hand field the right side of the brain.  Watch the reflections on the choreographies of listening to a foreign language.  Watch musings on the gestures of conversing people.  Watch the effect of European grey on my pupils.  Watch watch watch the regressions of an interior.  Watch watch watch the judgements and accumulations of conditioning brought sharp through travel.  Watch class values and culture values and ethnic values.  Watch the shape of people in relation to grey old.  Buildings of crumble, selective history, visible wearing.  Watch the addicts of television in little cubby rooms given up, temporarily, giving up, for a while.  Watch the old.  The old are visible in Europe, and they watch mucho television.

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