People one meets in hostels -- phantasms, physical representations of ephemera, doors that are just as real as they are imaginary, flung open in a way proportionate to the amount of revelations one can have. It is all music, all intervals, sudden loss of electricity that turns everyone to cigarettes and noise-making. I will see your never. Herringbone. Houndstooth. Paisley. Arabesque on ice.
"Coma is for the living." -- Beckett, Malone DiesI'll be back in five weeks.
Them bears ain't got nuthin' on me.
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