fragmentary prophetics: errata & miscellany &c
two paths diverged in a wood
and I, I took neither
and it has made no difference
Of Hospitality; interlude while reading
The day: a melted matchbook
Desperation: the bellwether’s maxim
Tea sipping (,) bottle caps (,) ants walking the walls
The question of the broom. To cleanse. To erase. We are no longer children. We are no longer young.
whose woods these are/Objects in Spaces, Part I: Contention
a man, a young man assuredly and strong, carries a chair - solid wood, nicely upholstered with a tasteful but out of date pattern - three miles from the road into what could be considered one of the few remaining green spaces in his locale and leaves it there amongst the trees and pebbles and a softly whispering brook babbling the secrets of the latest global conspiracies.
I sat in that chair once. It was less comfortable than leaning against the nearby beech tree that I had been doing previously and less amenable to radical thought and deviant praxis. I put a price tag on it and left it to the squirrels and breezes.
- Posted from my φάρμακον.
Things found in the parking garage while walking to my car
A broken bathroom tile
The head of a Lego brunette
A flyer for hidden treasure
& the ever present whine of bus engines
