I read a bit... I write a bit. I'm interested in photography, film, travel and Magick etc...
In Agde no wristwatch is required or extensive knowledge of French. A dying language like the white race is a dying ethnic entity. I talk too much, far too much…. and spent too much. ” I write to create my own reality.” to quote WSB. So can you talk to do likewise… or is it just drunken blah times three? The comradeship of the road the tap times three of the tarmac telegraph. In Agde no wristwatch is required walking canal side in the quiet night the square clock tower becomes visible from miles away across the flat countryside. The clock tick, tick, ticking times eternity. Groups of street drinkers living in semi-derelict boats…. other people’s abandoned projects. The cash ran out and they are left tethered to the canal bank. The clochards are likewise left waiting for their monthly government handouts. The comradeship of the road and occasional scraps as alcohol tips the level of tempers fraying in the South of France sun. Drinkers wise enough normally to shuffle along the pavement keeping in the shadow of the trees. They move along and drag their rucksacks to rest on. The faces change from year to year but actually remain unaltered. The same remnants of the Gallic people. The politeness of the lady in the tabac it would be unthinkable for her to refuse service on the grounds of homelessness. In England a simple terse sign on the door would suffice for unspoken denial.
I look up at the square clock tower made from blocks of volcanic rock. I now know the time but have lost track of the days. In the night I sleep on the Toucan II an abandoned sea boat. It will never see open water again its mast is down. The mosquitoes enjoy a feast the next night I vomit bile repeatedly times three. I leave Kenny ( it’s easy… like South Park) and march in the sun to Cap D’Agde in Mediterranean sun the track leaves the roadside up across and elevated vineyard and a derelict building with a redbrick chimney. Cap and Mersillan all sites COMPLET I make my tired way back to Agde sitting at roadside bus stop not realising it’s Sunday and no weekday bus will arrive anytime soon.