Light of the summer’s eve

Morning. You pull on the bib shorts you were wearing yesterday and the day before that. They’re sopping wet, yet you haven’t seen a cloud, yet alone rain for a week. You wonder at what point this results in untoward consequences. At least you know they’ll dry before becoming wet again. Some consolation.
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Pedals turn. Your mind wanders. Random fantasies. You write presentations you’ll never give. Slides, words and pictures. Talks on philosophy, politics and life all loosely woven together with cycle touring. I should write this down half your brain thinks, whats the point the other half counters. Stalemate. Pedals turn. Your mind wanders.
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Rest. Sit. Watch the world go by. Some of it though stirs thoughts, feelings, impulses. You think about the last time, a drunken fumble. The time before that, seemingly eons ago. More measured. Better? A wave of emotion washes over you. Loneliness. Conditioned mental reaction triggered by hormonal response. Biology. Push it down. One hand on your phone you drink from your glass. “Fuck you Huxley, I’ll never be an intellectual”.
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Pedals turn. The mind wanders. Future thoughts. Thoughts of the future. Plans. Peel back the layers and examine motivation. Consider outcomes but also drivers. Not just the pros and cons but the real reasons your mind is throwing up  these ideas. Run them through the filters. Political, do they fit with the plan, your worldview, are they a valid deviation? Personal. Why? No that’s bullshit, dig deeper, why? What do you have to sacrifice? What do you gain? Realise that thinking now is irrelevant as no real action can be taken for weeks, months. Pedals turn, your mind wanders.
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Push the bubble under the skin until one end hardens. Insert the point of the knife. Slowly. Carefully. The skin breaks the yellow fluid starting to run down the shin. Quickly wipe the knife on your shorts and pick up the toilet paper. Watch the toilet paper darken as it soaks up the puss. Push the skin again from the other end of the blister, draining it. “Should I be doing this?” You wonder. “Is this a problem?”. No reason to worry, nothing else you can do at the moment.
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Feet move. You wander. A sea of faces float past you as you cross the bridge. How many faces have you seen in your lifetime you ponder? How many of those will you see again? As they pass some  catch your attention more than others either by similarity to others or something else. People you’ll never communicate with. You feel small, insignificant. Is subjecting yourself to this experience healthy? Feet move. You wander.

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So I just felt like writing something completely different to normal. The east of Poland was good. Some quiet roads, some busy. Lots of woods to get lost and camp in. Now I’m in Berlin taking two days off in a row. My body needs it but I still struggle not to spend too much money in cities, mostly on food and drink.

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