RANDOM ECHOES 3/10/05

Waking early, Virgil was aware he had been dreaming - a bloody dream of war, some commando attack on an enemy stronghold of some kind - typical movie look - choreographed cinematographic images in his mind - teams of hard bitten soldiers hiding behind ditch walls and fences, waiting to launch their surprise, but then all hell breaking loose as the team are spotted and tracers start to fly, grenades explode around them - then a jump cut to Virgil alongside another team member stood by a gateway, the gunfight still going on behind them somewhere, waiting for a staff car they have spotted along the road to arrive carrying important personnel - when the car halts waiting for the gate to open Virgil and his compatriot pounce, guns at the ready - the figures within are surprised and stunned to have been caught out this way - Virgil recognises journalists from his own country sitting beside high ranking secret police-style officers, the journalists look sheepish, one even nods 'hello' to Virgil - Virgil is confused about many things: time zones, trust, why he is carrying a weapon at all. As he ponders these things the car drives away snagging his ally with it and dragging him along the ground until it turns a corner and he is released, rolling away. Virgil runs to him and his chest is all abraded and bloody but the man is still alive and moaning. It was this event that directly woke Virgil up. It was still early, not long before dawn, and the first autumn chill was present in the house. Virgil got up and went into the kitchen where he found a corn-on-the-cob had fallen on the floor overnight from the shelf above the cooker. It was odd there in the middle of the room, alien and furry, though also not dissimilar to a hand-grenade.

Smithfield Market, early morning, Monday - large cuts of meat, blood, organs kept in clear plastic bags, the smell of meat, splashes of thin crimson, groups of workers standing round in bloody white overalls - an ambulance arrives wheeling it's way into Grand Avenue and pulls up outside a compartment, the paramedics jump out and start working on a large man who has fallen and cracked his head on the paving, his blood mingling with the cattle blood; he is alive but badly hurt. Nearby, I overhear a young man within a group of onlooking meat packers say: "He's always been a bit sick. Seen the women he goes with?"

Partial solar eclipse today - antumbra (great word) or negative shadow is cast on to the earth's surface; primarily across Africa and most visible over Sudan in this instance.

Conductor blows his whistle fast, October rain is half his song; the readers in the quiet zone are offended when the plastic-armed teens start rioting dirty on the rail; the bridge groans awkward, patience blown skyward; each is trying to get out of a glass cage, the comedown at tired end of day; watching the edits over copper on the way; and just who is your personal trainer anyway, do you get one when you run out of ideas?

Wired man on Coldharbour Lane, a living robot of a man - walking into traffic without looking to protect himself, he just points the direction and goes; dark eyes, dead in there, never look directly at the drivers of the vehicles, he just presumes to have his space and gets there slowly as if challenging the cars to run him down at speed - He walks then straight limbed, stiff, almost economic, inured to any fear, the tight waist-length leather jacket he wears also confines his movements, further adding to the robot similarity. His shaved head built like a dome goliath, thick wedged skull. Something intense and unpredictable about him.

Yesterday's (Sundays) horoscope reads: 'pile all your belongings into a box and move on' - which is precisely what I began doing on Saturday!