2016
[emails sent to myself in 2016, please become a paid subscriber so I can fly to California]
The word God sounds to God like doing puzzles in silence in love all summer, through the whole entire summer at exactly twenty-four degrees with a little bit of breeze the moment when the last piece, when you have it in your hand, when your hand is going towards the gap, when the gap is going to be filled, but isn’t yet, but you notice that it sort of already is, in the first falling of the hand.
Uninvention of doors, turning doves and all other skilled birds into a compressed sonic landscape which fits into your ear, headphones that you find wrapped around the branch of some beautiful tree, in 1300, and you sit there in the glade for a while just listening while your family dies of work over there but you forget, completely forget.
The word Laura sounds to Laura like the turning of a key in a lock made of her body, a key made of her body, but a key which is not quite right, a key that works but lacks aesthetic qualities, a key that, when removed from the lock, when lying on the table inert, seems somehow horrific and bulbous and dangerous, a key which is better put in a drawer, but a world in which there are no drawers, a world of all surface, and one door, and one lock, but in which the placing of the key in the lock depends on whether or not he calls at that moment, and often he does not.
