2006-09-18 - 10:49 p.m.
I keep trying to run my hand over the shape of things, mounds of endless flesh with bones embedded in unlikely places.
And I still don't get along famously with most people. It makes me think of a crack in a supply pipe under the bathroom sink, where the seemingly infinite/invisible water in the pipe represents the full content of human consciousness and the leak represents how much actually gets through to just me. The larger the breakage, the more I love you.