A Collection of Spectacles


02. He, wait, let’s be direct and sincere. You are not here but are fervently distracting me from this paper. Sheets, pillow, covers, at various spots and patches are tinged with images (over here, this position was assumed, over there, this pose was taken).

That’s all I can offer right now. Not in the mood to be in touch with those ideas. Posting sometimes is uncomfortable, like posing naked in front of a large crowd, letting them look at your body, telling you where you can improve. To tighten your stomach (particularly the lower area). To work until your collarbones show through.

It’s good to be separate individuals, self-determinant wholes, who are tied so loosely and yet so deeply that there isn’t a we. Not in the traditional sense. Above all else, I am married to knowledge, to concepts, to finding a space in which it can be applied. I feel almost robotic. There’s no room in this mind for emotion, even feelings are traced back and calculated, analyzed. I figure this is the best I have it in me to care.

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