writing

I've answered too many questions about vocation - far too many about the heart and past relationships. Questions that, by all my considerations, were the least interesting and the most unoriginal questions I’ve ever encountered. These questions - in their roteness, their dullness, their pathetic attempts at

I step hesitantly into an expanse of a room. The porous concrete floor grates harshly against my naked feet, the dry and withered threshold, unmaintained for millennia, splinters and pierces my delicate hands. I cast my gaze towards the center of the room and behold twenty or thirty beautiful angels

Always facing outwards. No, sitting. People talk to me. Words. I talk to them. Words. People. Sitting. Always facing outwards.

When I woke up I was already standing in the doorway. Afternoon comes so quickly these days that I wonder if I should think of new ways to divvy my time up. Stretching, I ask myself, "what's there to eat." Having slept on my glasses again,