The Present Rearranges The Past.

For Many Years, I Have Been Moved By The Blue At The Far Edge Of What Can Be Seen, That Color Of Horizons, Of Remote Mountain Ranges, Of Anything Far Away. The Color Of That Distance Is The Color Of An Emotion, The Color Of Solitude And Of Desire, The Color Of There Seen From Here, The Color Of Where You Are Not. And The Color Of Where You Can Never Go.

A Lone Walker Is Both Present And Detached, More Than An Audience But Less Than A Participant. Walking Assuages Or Legitimizes This Alienation.

More And More I Think Of Privatisation As Being Not Just About The Takeover Of Resources And Power By Corporate Interests, But As The Retreat Of Citizens To Private Life And Private Space, Screened From Solidarity With Strangers And Increasingly Afraid Or Even Unable To Imagine Acting In Public.

Sense Of Place Is The Sixth Sense, An Internal Compass And Map Made By Memory And Spatial Perception Together.

There's Enough Food In This World. There's Enough Housing In This World. There's Enough Shelter In This World. There's Enough Clothing In This World. There's Enough Teachers, There's Enough Universities For Everybody's Needs To Be Met, And The Reasons They Aren't Is Not Because Of Lack Of Resources. It's Because Of Distribution, And That's The Politics Of Hate, Which Is Why This Is A Movement Against That. It's A Politics Of Love.