The mind waxes and wanes like the moon. It is on the trajectory of going into complete darkness. White reveals, black hides. Why do I feel so guilty for existing? I am ashamed of the desire which makes the trees reach for the sky. I am reaching too. I’ve done my best. I think of an infinite stretch of birdhouses.
You can never escape the coastal air, the breath of sea salt, the escalation of tropical delusion. The breeze blows, life slows to a crawl, the glass is fogged. The city streets and office buildings dissolve, the cars dissolve, the people evaporate. I am losing my way in the sand. I catch fragments: in the crest of the waves, in the lapses of seaweed.
I fall asleep and see messages which are quite clear. Trust me, I don’t want to think so much anymore. Daydreaming of immanent action. There is an all-encompassing humidity, a heart in jungle territory.
You said, ____________________________
(a declaration of intent which I’ve taken quite seriously)
I am in a losing war with the imagination. Dreams can be both sustenance and a source of drought.
Hollywoodland is dripping into my eyes.
I am writing to tell you that the doomsday radio is out of commission. I am very busy, I hope you are less so. In truth, I think only of one thing. I am single-minded. The stars are responsive this evening. The sky has been dipped in melted candle wax. I tasted the clouds and they reminded me that there is a life which I can’t see clearly yet. All I know is that the dream will be secured with lock and key. The house is small but waiting. Home is immaterial but forming.
I will give you a reason to believe that the blue skies can persist forever.