Saturday, February 03, 1996

February 3

These days of nothing but shop windows. The sight of the architect beggared in the marketplace. Impatience, human dignity, unsalable, crumbling away. The death agony. Persistent and very plaintive since morning. A cheap apartment and meager living. Sunrise first, then sunset, then the empty window. Without the privilege of knowing when the hills came down.

Faith cannot be replenished, chooses its own latch, like hammers falling when someone tries to swim. The sweet parade of blasphemy in unfurnished rooms. The surgeon measures the hours, does not blanch. For having exposed experience of the breathless condition.

Back to the subject. A woman gaining flesh in a poorly-heated room in winter in the middle of nowhere. The last remnant of civilized culture, half benevolent, always boring, too costly to repair. Her symptoms an excuse, a melodrama summoned from polar caskets. Such desperate acts spawning in millions, bound with violence, terrorism and conversation to the misfortunes that precede them. The heat each grave carries. The brave surrender at last, not even aware of defeat, forgo the enormous little pleasure of another ride to the bottom of things, the invisible depths of voices for awhile and then nothing.

Captivity is consciousness that ceased to feel. The ritual so small. Recognize ourselves in the procession, salute and pass, without a hint.