A chess game ends in a park where I begin to regret my choices. Gotten but for this metal in my mouth. “Love is an act of not knowing,” I think as I fight this city. Where would I rather be? No place I’d rather be. I would rather be a place. I’d rather be any place. No place. To the screams of the man on the street that lasted all Sunday: I can never not hear you. This too may be love.
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Postmodern/Pedestrian: - external causes - ends-based, purpose of a movement is to accomplish a goal- - measured by numbers arbitrarily (cou...
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I want to make my attention visible I want to make my attention clean My lore is obviously balletic My lore is obviously dharmic I want to b... -
1. Would it be a dream or something else if I saw in the pock-marked avenue your sweating eyes? If I imitated your hand would I be left wit...
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