OF COURSEs air, a novel gesture made me look again at her husk, kernel. The pier, this that pier there this appears as a now which is a noun, A Tool-Being (English readers may smirk here). ((If you get it wrong, BPMBAST)) Permission granted Justice and the logorhtymic intensity of a SCottish Christmas had me breakfasted on a stiff Queen's Ripple by the loch. It was kant if I do and Can't if I won't Jimmy. The pier had been forged in 1878, let's say. Into the English channel as a.. (did I say English Channel. Does this interlocute my geography? A cause worthy of note. Here she hands me the invitation to speak, the durable plastic folder in her other hand, letters of not normality, evidence of change. Is this what you mean by a sublime object? She laughs and tells me her name a second time as the sky lifts her shirt up. Objectification appeared before my ear and eye. The struts of the wrought iron. Parallel worlds. See below) seashore and wavespell, granite collandes, white Georgian bandstandards of Old Memory. She took the Highwater Line off the Loch to Innis Garven and there mounted a Frenzy to the Subaltaic Region. Here, the Pipe's and Frenzies gathered and she allayed a trope or two with a round for each. McKenzie Station? Round the Corner Ma'arm. They sniggered/ After all, it's just a pier, what you hung about it up upon cosimi Amidicicio? Vespusivius. Obviously (I started to drool) HOT hiney shining in sun sitting on deck chair locates horizon and eats ice cream. Crowd hits a clap at band stage center as acoustic resonates through wood. History melts into the formica kitchen of the cafe as the stones roll around the beach. It's just a pier, a requiem of another day, that's all. She was very certain of herself in those days, cocooned (as I saw it) in her Malibu Home, nearer Captain Bugwash only in that was the name of her pub on the beach, than I who was nearer a pub in Old Blightly by the same name when I thought I'd stop into the Delight Chickky for a brief alloy of Spice and Nutmeg which had become a rare Lux in those days, like her soap? Soap bought proferred under my nose. It's from France. Always delicate. And other objects, such as pick axes and shovels (although used in the vicinity of the pier) were replaced by plastic contrivances, and after dark drinks beneath her hull. But a Tool Being? Having settled into my armchair well comforted that the pier was nothing but a Tool, I felt more realxedisued, as if I was on philosphical solid ground, much like those pillars supporting the whole structure (which later I would see as the phone number and advert of the actual (yes, actual) scaffolders assigned to the mop up job) See below. After that coincidence, the pier became more user friendly again. It helps. It assists. It makes work of the sea. It affords views. It enables other objects to be seen. It faciltates navigation (it is a chronometer) It is an ally of Captain Cook (and his Chronometer) and that is an ally of something far wider that would have to be called HyerObject 9but which one? HYPB a or HYPB 2? It was never clear, not for very long. Not.... fog etc was coming in off the sea, she said, she would call me back later. (Problems with assmeblages) and the weather. IN the first instance I thought to rage. "Is it preposterous to rage, like sea against end of Object?" The dark pier lost in the fight against Night, but it may yet see another day. Let's hope it's not a post-anything one.