A Collection of Spectacles


I don’t know if I should write another wishful note, because by the time I find somewhere to attach it, some (unlucky?) address to send it to, I will not be “here” enough to make a difference. 

I’m lying in the bed that made me fall asleep to Faulkner. This time, I fell asleep to Ballard, and his vague writings about one man’s apocalypse. Drifting off, there were hats on my head that kept changing size and color…

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