I’m thinking a lot about safety and freedom and consequences this week.

I am swimming against the tide, I know, I know. I know that the last time I talked about this people wrote to me and thanked me for helping cure their otherwise incurable insomnia but, gods, this stuff is important. The way we use language and think about things is important.

This week: accountability, responsibility, shit policy and death of the author.

The city is alive these days. She grasps at the sky with concrete fingers that seem to spring up at every corner. I see them rising from my window, illuminated from the east. The sun considers them steadily, and his gaze falls also on my black cat. He is as black as the night sky, which is to say not black at all, or perhaps all the colours of black.

He grasps for a touch, and I wonder what it would be to touch a city.

“You should be a magician,” she said.
“A magician?”
She rolled her eyes, laughed. “No, a politician. Although, is there much difference?”
“Yes,” I thought. “Magicians know they’re pretending.”