Longitude 70° 30' east Latitude 28° 2' north (roughly) In the month of October, underneath an Orion sky,
Having gone around the sun fifty-six times, But always, always, through new territories in space. Having been fascinated, neutral, then disgusted by tele-vision, and many other visions.
Having broken my back in two places, Twenty kilometres south of a river, six kilometres west of another, On the eastern edge of an old mountain range that seems to have tired of civilisations and wonders what the word 'civil' is doing there.
Eighteen kilometres west of an Air Force Firing Range where they practice dive bombing.
Almost two hundred kilometres east of the Thar desert, but not so far that its dust doesn’t reach me on hot summer winds.
Having rescued the tiny corn from last night’s bruising, and dusted off wasp eggs from beans, Having seen that there is more scripture in a bird than in a book.
Having noticed that galaxies are displaying fluid dynamics, and that mountains are waves walking leisurely over land.
Having loved, among all earthly things, comics, rainy days and radio the best. Having tried, always, always, to give myself someone new to look at in the mirror. Having known that the truths I cherish lie six centimetres under the soil. Having been certain as sunlight that our toys will tomorrow play with us.
Having understood that I am at odds with everything, including myself. Legs like sticks.
Winds northerly, 14 kilometres per hour. High tide at 11.06 am, 2.25 metres.