Member-only story
the history of light is the history of time we were ecstatic once lotus-eaters only recently have people learned this thing called History I exist in a web of stories my body can’t tell where the beginning is it was autumn I was in grad school listening to Glenn Gould’s Mozart recordings the album cover had a white sleep depth is why nothing comes to light I live in fear of the moments in which I break down my defenses there are boundaries blindspots borders that cannot be crossed or even acknowledged most of them have to do with emotions I’ve stopped feeling I’ve dried up like a river delta dissolve the world’s unquiet trance go to therapy maybe I’ve told N she should I try to exploit the empty circle of my capacity’s before I run out of juice I’m beginning to feel desperate enough to write something but will you read it
