I feel a Presence
I feel the presence of three hundred and sixty US dollars. I don't know where that money is. It is everywhere and nowhere. If I am in the bottom of a deep well, it peers over the rim, high above, punctuating the circle of sky. If I am hiding in a car park, it laughs at me from the branches of a nearby tree. When I was 15, chord fingerings superimposed themselves daily on the face of a Lady Verney's girl on the bus. The girl had curly black hair and a face like a hymn book. I never found out what she was like. Perhaps she was an Ancient Egyptian wall painting and only pretended to have three dimensions. Lots of people pretend to only pretend to have depth. Had he persisted, Sir John Mandeville would have discovered and documented the twin islands of Lols and Lulz, inhabited by blind tree-people with bony, accusing fingers literally shaking from the seismic cycles of ague drawn up through their roots. The winds on these islands can tumble a drunken ha...