A Dead Afternoon In A Dark Bar

In These Night Recitations We Create A Space Between Things As We Felt Them At The Time And As We Speak Them Now. This Is The Space Reserved For Irony, Sympathy And Fond Amusement, The Means By Which We Rescue Ourselves From The Past.

Any Assault On The Borders Of Perception Is Going To Seem Rash At First.

It Is Possible To Be Homesick For A Place Even When You Are There.

World Is Supposed To Mean Something That's Self-contained. But Nothing Is Self-contained.

Perhaps We've Invented Conspiracies For Our Own Psychic Well-being, To Heal Ourselves.