Nowadays “the human body, our body, seems superfluous in its proper expanse,” says Baudrillard. I dreamt I gave birth to a bone which would grow into a whole infant the way a cutting grows into a bush. The bone was hungry for my breast milk and soft bread. It opened its end like a sock-puppet, plaintive.

I ride in the airplane. I watch the red vs of the desert mountains. I watch the mega-windmills, the tremendous white turbines, and I know they are moving only because of the shadow on their stems which goes like a brisk hand smacking a speck from the torso.

I think, I am thinking always, of the Blythe Geoglyphs, 200 feet tall – of the Uffington white horse.

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