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To quote Edward Thomas, after nearly five months of blazing sun and hot weather: Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain on this bleak hut, and solitude, and me. In Ocentejo, as you can see, desperately trying to get PIGS ready before the beginning of December. The task seems more impossible as each day goes by and I look at how much there is still left to do. Brings Allen Ginsberg to mind: Four skinheads stand in the streetlight rain chatting under an umbrella. Rainy night on Union square, full moon. Want more poems? Wait till I'm dead.

3 November 2011
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