To elaborate plans for a domestic labor zombie film:
Why not? Let’s film it with the head torch on.
We put on full body tents to climb rocks in the rain.
Today might be all about tins and orange lentils and then trout appears at the table. But what do we do with it?
Lying in bed I am eating chocolate, drinking whisky and reading, beside me a small roof garden. One long stem taps out Morse Code against the mesh screen between us. What are you telling me? How to read rocks at the beach?
What is the focal length of a murky pool?
What does the lens of Massacre Cave see?
I read Maggie Nelson on Bernadette Meyer on domestic day to day. We make black bread, baked it in the wood stove. Now, I say don’t trust the thermometer. The inside is good though and eggs with fresh sage taste still better, here.
We wait for a patch of sun to shower.
Strip off and it is cold. It is cold but nice.
With zombie makeup we descend to the beach. A crab scuttles away and I want to think laterally. All minds wander, but how far? And with each evening the sky is an entirely different landscape or set of cloud mountains or fat air in pinky, white, grey blob explosions.
Let’s try climbing up this way and again we are lost, though never very far.
We watch wet seal heads watching black, wet suit figures on rocks. All are outlined in sunset.
It is overgrown but move through it, anyway who is to say how much? While unfurling a thought at bedtime you may fall asleep but with few interruptions it can return. So many things to find and still surprised by the tethered dragon kite tormented by wind.
Our zombie makeup is poor but these mossy faces suit the beach.
It’s not over, we’re just resting- with oatcakes and cheese.