At night the dogs let loose their voices, a cacophonic choir of uncountable choristers. They bark, yelp, woof, howl and wwwwoowowowowow along to each other, in a fierce debate, who can say about what? I try to tell whether they are arguing with each other, or vehemently agreeing. Each night I go from one to the other, but whatever it is there is the feel of celebration to it. It is as though they had been forced, out of decorum, to still their tongues and stay silent all day, and now that night had fallen they were all free, all at once, to make as much noise as possible.
Thoughts, reports and images from a rather strange existence. I'll be mixing fresh entries with words found in piles of old visual art diaries. I'm still not sure if this was a good idea, putting up all of this stuff. Times long past intermingled with times just flown. The old entries were penned in my slow left-handed scrawl, the new entries hammered out by ten fingers. Does this affect the style and content?
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