By the Royal Canal

Stalemate, and motion eases the self from the real. It refuses the tears and its soul is urgent somehow. Faces of the city, the ravaged and the torn, drinking by the Royal Canal, on the edge of sane, and the frustrated language and feeling, crazy in its anger, in its discomfort. All the world is a cruel place, until, you find that kind place of love, a gentle and a simple love, not the accepted love of lovers, but the love within interconnection, of friendship, and of care. Seems to me sometimes, that like finds like, in a desperation, in a loneliness, in a helplessness, in a fanatical need. And it is very difficult to see love within the drinkers on the Royal Canal, but theres is love just the same. And the sun escapes to places like Dalkey and Kiliney apparently, where quality is apparently increased, and simple sentences and words of art align, there is anger in the madness, and everyone, whether rich or poor, has the same spotlight thrust upon them.