Knot for nothing.

What started as a comment from Wendy Taleo to "Speaking their Language"* took on a life of its own and then Kevin tied us in knots...

As they say in Yorkshire "there's nowt as queer as folk." 


Speaking their language*

Be longing.

“I looked up at the mass of signs and stars in the night sky and laid myself open for the first time to the benign indifference of the world.” 

― Albert Camus, The Stranger

Be fitting

I tried on a variety of costumes...

They didn't fit.

I was not fit for purpose.

No that one will not do.

That was me.

No that one will not do.

I was not one of them.

No that one will not do.

It just wasn't me.

In the end I gave up on costumes.

Be longing.

I don't belong...


This book belongs to Simon.

I liked that printed on a book.

It is decorative and has substance.


I don't belong...


It appears to be printed on my forehead.

I don't seem to have an ounce of decorative substance in me...


There are fringe benefits.

One has a better view asat the edge.


B. word.

Asat is that a word?

It will be now.

I have proclaimed it to be so.

Now that word belongs to me.

Ha! I drag it here.

Can you hear it kicking and screaming and protesting its insignificance?

'I am not a word. I am not a word.'

You can't have words revolting!

What is the word coming to?

Be longing.

Do those that belong feel where they start and others end?

I was never quite sure about that.

Do those that don't belong feel where they start and where others end?

I was never quite sure about that.

Does shared alienation represent a sense of belonging?

I was never quite sure about that.

I like writing.

I suppose I belong here.

I am not sure that here belongs to me.

'I won't be long now.'

Ah that's its end.

I am quite sure about that.



Image. 

La Silla Observatory
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Night_sky#/media/File:Starry_Night_at_La_Silla.jpg