Pathetic fortress

-After travelling south upon the northern line to elephant and castle-I got on to a no53 bus. The search for a seat lead me upstairs, to the back of the bus, pass a women who was busy daring anyone to clear the vacate seat beside her of its cake wrapping
and crumpled newspaper. Sitting facing the row of red seats at the back of the bus, I felt the total remoteness of each person to another.
It hardly seemed appropriate to consider that each occupant of a seat, was aboard the same bus moving slowly along dismal old kent road.

-Suspecting the worse I arrived and took a chair in the corner of the room, not expecting much-I was prepared to make my little table my fortress, but I got into a conversation with a little old lady who laid waste to my pathetic fortress.

-I’ll be glad to been done with this room, this flat and these neighbours. 12 days and the only sound, besides
Intermittent Sirens from outside, I shall hear will be church services and piano recitals, far below the wooded floorboards of the studio. There’s much needed to be done still, my ferrying of books has been sporadic and hampered by the upheavals of proposal writing. The last four or so days have been sunny and rather warm, today and yesterday I’ve whiled away a few hours in the park in Greenwich. I didn’t plan to return, but a certain tree I had for company whilst sitting length ways upon a bench beside a path on a steep incline, beckoned me to draw its impressive stature. I don’t quite know why, but I found myself admiring particularly its base, which I likened to a heavily planted foot of huge elephant. I found a certain solace
In this tree and watched the various families, couples, foolhardy cyclists and short legged dogs with flapping tongues, panting up the path towards me, past this tree that drew my eyes continuously. This tree has been my company this weekend. I generally don’t last more than a few hours doing nothing before a restlessness creeps in and apparently, according to a ex, become like a boat with too numerous holes, sinking. I have little faith that another life beside this, is retrievable in this city. It facilitates all to well my
Haunting. The moving out ‘could’ change this and draw me out. I don’t honest know if I care all that much, enough to hinder what I plan to be a solid block of working. Thoughts and feelings, very typical for me particularly in the warmer, ‘more cheerful’ seasons. I’ve only ever truly held out for the company of one other and it shows no signs of changing, because admittedly I don’t want it to change. I’m content with wanting the impossible, giving my all and confessing everything behind a fence, I fool myself into thinking I’m more honest, more sincere than those apparently without a fence and ramparts.