Reflections

Not to repeat.

Not to continue to try whatever psychic channel or vibes we seem to have tuned into (The celebration of The Prodigal Son foreseen in September; the future role of York foreseen in October; A voice crying out that the soul of Oxford needed The Beast to return in February... we shouldn't meddle in forces we don't understand).

Not to continue if the flame isn't there. We're there at a rebirth in yellow: Burton-on-Trent bathed in sunshine, our colour around all four sides of the ground. We're there for a Collosseum performance against Bristol. But is the drive there, without the sense of injustice? The planets realigned at Burton. The wrongs were righted that day in May. We look round and see the world is right again. Perhaps this blog was born of that earlier rage, a howl that had to come out somewhere - and now that they've perhaps mellowed?.. well...

We can feel ourselves moving from that Beckettian injunction to eschew the uselessness of words that we wanted to live by. We try again too many times. So of course we continue, but we'll become more sporadic than before... probably more of the Occasional Pen Portraits, the odd Reading Photographs... an image for a match if we feel we've not done it before. We promised not to repeat. Better this way.