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. 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... -
In and out Up and all the way out of the room We clean and we clean and we expect people to pay attention to us You were so beautiful in t...
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