12 September 2004


There was an old man called Michael Finnegan. Ourobouros. That's the word. Ourobouros, the snake that swallows its own tail. Between these shelves, between these books, between these words, I go round in circles. Swallowing myself. Imagine, swallowing yourself. A hit with the ladies, no mistake. But why would a man need a woman if he could swallow himself? The wind came round and blew them in again. Light's still a long way off and the library doesn't even open till nine. Thoughts going round but they can't get out. Thoughts in circles. Ourobouros. Poor old Michael Finnegan. Begin again.