Waking unexpectedly curled round an anonymous fat rear tyre recalling a haiku by Kobayashi Issa:
points the way
with a turnip
As I understand it, the turnip-puller embraces their role so whole-heartedly person/purpose become indistinguishable. Pointing with a neep/pointing with an extension of themselves. Can’t speak for the turnip-puller but I never really wanted to BE a motorcycle adventurer. Just to explore the misty terrain between fantasy and possibility. Just curious enough to whisk a world of ridiculous, impossible dreams into yeasty, achievable potential and bake a boule of ambiguous existence. Yet where once was an inquisitive middle-aged woman of middle-intelligence and middle-allure, now stands a grizzled, worldliwise gambler oozing control and a total lack of it. Problem is, while she’s returned briefly West, her turnip is still in Vladivostok.
sleepwalks the streets
3rd October 2014