I stopped writing dovegreyreader for a reason but I didn’t stop writing. I needed to explore a few things, do some ‘research’, unlearn and re-learn. Write things down for me. I’ve filled three notebooks (Leuchtturm 1917 dotted) Sitting down each day, reading, walking, thinking, sitting at my tiny desk in the bedroom window. Something comes to mind and I’ll go there. Yesterday history of polio(fascinating), one day last week ley lines (who knew). Honestly, I might not be able to travel without the right papers (is this really 1930s Germany we’re living in? You know, that time we look back on and wonder how they could possibly have let it happen?) but you wouldn’t believe the places I’ve been. With thanks to Joan Didion and Slouching Towards Bethlehem, and Roger Scruton’s England an Elegy, and Confessions of a Heretic, and countless others for being alongside, and so many more waiting in the wings. 
Remembering a dark October day wandering around Pere Lachaise in Paris, 1998ish, in search of Jim Morrison’s grave. It wasn’t hard to find... graffiti everywhere saying’Jim this way’. I seem to have stumbled across Riders on the Storm quite a lot lately. Jim still works the magic but who knew what really went on. I’ve discovered snippets but it’s time to go the full Laurel Canyon. 
Good morning Mr ‘Chips’. I think we’re going to be keeping each other company for a few months (950 pages). 
‘We are handed a series of masks, as we progress through life, and at each stage, we are encouraged to perceive these as Real.’ Joanna Kavanna’s essay on reality in this brilliant collection Alchemy from @nottinghilleditions ‘In order for there to be Things as they Actually Are, one assumes there must be Things as they Actually are Not, or at least, Things that do not quite qualify as Actual, and exist in a shady hinterland of the not-quite-real Real.’ Stretching my mind to its most elastic of extremes, and grateful for the time and space to do so. Now.