fragment of a novel

>>> afterwards a feeling of deadness comes over me each fragile sliver of shooting time is compressed into prayer order emerges out of a field of disorder when the natural object is presented it is impossible for us to understand what the senses are feeling I look at my own mask-like face in the morning I take a cold shower smoke a cigarette piss in my garden to water the flowers listen to your breathing the camera is a cathedral salvation in the dream I had last night the sea was as deep and as private as anguish I saw a wave on the horizon rolling towards me and I ran towards it longing to drown I only see my son once a month his mother doesn’t trust my lifestyle we were too young I didn’t understand who I would become or who I already was compulsively self-justifying and self-absorbed testing the depths of my encounter with a hidden reality take us the foxes the little foxes that spoil the grapes each of us are separate particles made whole in the final collapse and fusion of the universe a character with a dynamic power of acting upon the audience he places his hand on her sternum kisses her neck they aren’t speaking but there is still a logical path forward from the finite to the infinite this is my technique for bringing people to consciousness so that we don’t have to torment ourselves all this time the mystery of who we are what we are to each other to ourselves to time yet each scattering is not a summons but a choice internalized and then forgotten like the wish to lose this visionary hope the signal before sleep circles back to the surface of the eyes where you endure it like a sibling…