intolerable interminable silences walling up from the half places to be watched, to fill up the crooks, crooked nooks, nothing. the light, pure, filtered through striations of impurities splashing like an infected gash across the face. open sore. the noises of its silence. a drowning drinking silent noise like the moment before an orchestra crashes into a denture.
I write short stories. This is my blog. I'm going to write whatever.