Skimming through the edge of life and desire, I find myself in a quiet morning where the unbearable longing for anything other than now is quieted. I am here in my quiet room, not content but not yearning either, unafraid of loneliness and her lead toothed smile. I read today that the only historical moment one cannot escape is now. That is true, but now is ephemeral and it is past as soon as the s letter of the word is read. But now is tenacious, and reappears at each moment, even at then end of the sentence. Now.
And now.
And now.
Endlessly.
Yet, in this quiet morning, now seems to spread itself gently and to cover a past of memories both real and not real; the inescapability of now is a gentle presence in a quiet apartment. A welcome reminder of possibilities yet to come.
And now.
And now.
Endlessly.
Yet, in this quiet morning, now seems to spread itself gently and to cover a past of memories both real and not real; the inescapability of now is a gentle presence in a quiet apartment. A welcome reminder of possibilities yet to come.
HOPE FIEND