To be sentenced – punished. To be judged and punished, but for everything to remain the same. Curious dream. Why is it I imagine the white sky to be the judge, and the judgement? Because of its indifference. Because this is the judgement: You do not matter. That is the sentence: nothing you have done matters, not at all.
A recurrent memory: cycling around the new estates. Cycling through the gaps of countryside between the new estates, light falling indifferently upon all. And the feeling of being watched, and that I could not escape. That to be watched was to be judged, the judgement falling equally upon all. How light it was, the judgement! As light as air, the gentle pressure of air.
I carry my bike over the railway bridge. The white sky that sees nothing, but that sees. That sees from a source I cannot know, a perspective I cannot access. To be watched – seen – but in blindness. To be seen by the blindness of the sky, its indifference.
And when writing opened its eyes? The same perspective, the same non-seeing. And when the page burned up through my writing? The judgement, a trial and a sentence all at once. To say, you do not matter. To say, nothing you have done has ever mattered.
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