the second week is almost done and I have been reading, oh have I been reading! Sort of realise that I have spent a fortune, moved myself to the other side of the country away from all that I know in order to .... read.

and is it all starting to make sense....

are the hybrids coming out of the woodwork and starting to be familiar? Is the Other really there and am I enchanted or dis-illusioned by the process of modernity???? hmmmmmmm maybe my sense of or for my-self needs polishing, mirabilis, mira-cle, mirror.... is it the reflexive and cursive self that is screaming or is my ethnography too disabled by my lack of difference... if I keep writing I might persuade myself I have some clue as to some meaning, or is it all in the end meaningless.....

perhaps

quite simply

I

am

lost