Every So Often Something Shatters Like Ice

At Times The Whole Sky Was Ringed In Shooting Points And Puckers Of Light Gathering And Falling, Pulsing, Fading, Rhythmical As Breathing. All Of A Piece. As If The Sky Were A Pattern Of Nerves And Our Thought And Memories Traveled Across It. As If The Sky Were One Gigantic Memory For Us All.

A Woman's Body Is The Gate To This Life. A Man's Body Is The Gate To The Next Life.

I Knew Each Person's Delusion, The Places Their Records Had Scratched, Where The Sounds Repeated.

What Happens When You Let An Unsatisfactory Present Go On Long Enough? It Becomes Your Entire History.

Women Don't Realize How Much Store Men Set On The Regularity Of Their Habits. We Absorb Their Comings And Goings Into Our Bodies, Their Rhythms Into Our Bones.