words for thought

"... and addiction in the end is a surer bond than love."

Coetzee, Dusklands.

which got me thinking.

.

Sundays are becoming / have been a part of the week sucked into an anonymous void. apart from the morning kickabout which i performed with great clarity and awareness, the rest of the day have regularly been stolen by the crushing humidity of sundays, aptly named i now realised, upon which i often meekly surrender while lying prostrate on the bed, not daring to provoke the heat that feeds on me, or by my own seeming inability to do anything even as I watch the hands of my clock make a mad dash across the yellowed face.

I have much photos to return to.