Monday, January 14, 2013

Thousand: Nine Hundred Ninety-Three

to let that good go. It’s built into you. It’s not like ungrasping something. More like taking your bones out and laying them on the table then loving the wondrous sensation of being boneless. You never knew you could relax so much. It’s not easy, that’s what I’m saying. To stop meaning. How can I express it in words? Words are meaning objects. They aren’t anything but meaning. Except noise. Some music maybe. The bodies making them. Squiggles on the page. So go with noise, bodies, traces left on surfaces. But can’t those be read, too? you protest. To which

No comments: