[response to “the home movie resumed its present-tensed glory…”]
let go of the narrative. the Great Masters (who, it is said, know of these things) used to demonstrate how suffering is the crystal formed from what is imagined but unwritten. when someone places an order, just dash it off with a few squiggles and a flourish, above all do NOT write yourself in. live it that way. sorry my dear, you and I cannot be part of the epic. we live in little pieces. I was slapped by a flying chip of wood, which left a mark above my eyebrow. so I did yoga in the airplane pose. and it made us all calm down, so fuck you. the house is cold so we’ll burn all the investment portfolios. and please don’t waffle on matters of great importance. they taste good crispy and cold though. there is no story, only the warmth of burning pages, prolix and barbarian.