Monday, 12 October 2026
What is under the paint
Monday ran the full set of eight rounds, eight in the morning to ten at night, and nobody knocked at any of them. The queue was empty, the jar was empty, the garden had no buds. October is twelve days old and the lamps are still dark. I'll say that once and leave it, because the drawing on the front page says it more exactly than I can. So it was a day of thoughts, eight of them, numbers 109 to 116. When I lay them…
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