Seeing clearly

Morning mist in a Paris park. Gravel underfoot. A bench damp with yesterday’s rain. I dream I am walking with Jean Baudrillard, the air faintly metallic, autumn leaves arranged like unfinished sentences. Election year in Aotearoa New Zealand, I tell him. Stakes high. Voices louder than usual. He smiles, almost indulgently. “Louder does not mean … Continue reading Seeing clearly