A Very Big Book
(Not to be read at once, but at one's leisure, in succession)
A Thought Process in Works:
Work 1
I am sitting in a living room, at a computer, listening to remnants of my library. The few old volumes I've got left in this building. I don't know how I missed some of them. I meant to take everything with me when I left.
I am sitting in a chair that I am not familiar with. It likes me and I like it, but we both agree that we hardly know each other. I play around with it at times, and it entertains my antics, because it's an easy going fun lover just like me- a little cold at first sight, first search, first sit.
I am sitting in a spot that at one point was used to build houses, gardens, arenas, skyscrapers. So many things have been erected in my lifetime. So many things destroyed. So many people have been made. So many people lost.
Work 2
Nothing is really gone, just forgotten. I can turn my back, walk away from a life of construct and it'll stay reeling at my heels, out of sight. I'm not out of mind, I'm making it up. Making it up as I go along. And here it is, I'm finally all made up. I look good, don't I? Can you smell me? That's anticipation. That's the scent you gave me. Pensive Pomp: An heir of splendor with an air of sobriety. I've forgotten about it, but it's still there. You still smell it. I see it in your eyes when you smell me after absence. Spend enough time and maybe you'll smell like it too. Maybe you'll forget the smell. And that's when you'll see me: a man. A man in a suit. A man looking to the future. A man standing, waiting on his wedding day.
Work 3
Days before, I'll recount everything in my old volumes. I'll look at all that has been done, undone and redone. I'll tally up the scores that have passed me by. Remember when I fucked up. Remember when I lost it. Remember when I lost you. You. You. You. Days before, I'll organize it all. I'll package up what needs storing, hang the condemned signs, inventory the loose threads. I'll roof the buildings, set the keystones, furnish the vacancies. Days before, I'll see that everyone is sleeping where they want, working where they want, staying where they are. I'll post the population sign and get in my car. Days before, I'll pick up the line and take it all in and remember why I forgot.
Work 4
Days after, I'll be sowing seeds. Days after that. And days after that. Days after, I'll lead life. For days after.
A Thought Process in Works:
Work 1
I am sitting in a living room, at a computer, listening to remnants of my library. The few old volumes I've got left in this building. I don't know how I missed some of them. I meant to take everything with me when I left.
I am sitting in a chair that I am not familiar with. It likes me and I like it, but we both agree that we hardly know each other. I play around with it at times, and it entertains my antics, because it's an easy going fun lover just like me- a little cold at first sight, first search, first sit.
I am sitting in a spot that at one point was used to build houses, gardens, arenas, skyscrapers. So many things have been erected in my lifetime. So many things destroyed. So many people have been made. So many people lost.
Work 2
Nothing is really gone, just forgotten. I can turn my back, walk away from a life of construct and it'll stay reeling at my heels, out of sight. I'm not out of mind, I'm making it up. Making it up as I go along. And here it is, I'm finally all made up. I look good, don't I? Can you smell me? That's anticipation. That's the scent you gave me. Pensive Pomp: An heir of splendor with an air of sobriety. I've forgotten about it, but it's still there. You still smell it. I see it in your eyes when you smell me after absence. Spend enough time and maybe you'll smell like it too. Maybe you'll forget the smell. And that's when you'll see me: a man. A man in a suit. A man looking to the future. A man standing, waiting on his wedding day.
Work 3
Days before, I'll recount everything in my old volumes. I'll look at all that has been done, undone and redone. I'll tally up the scores that have passed me by. Remember when I fucked up. Remember when I lost it. Remember when I lost you. You. You. You. Days before, I'll organize it all. I'll package up what needs storing, hang the condemned signs, inventory the loose threads. I'll roof the buildings, set the keystones, furnish the vacancies. Days before, I'll see that everyone is sleeping where they want, working where they want, staying where they are. I'll post the population sign and get in my car. Days before, I'll pick up the line and take it all in and remember why I forgot.
Work 4
Days after, I'll be sowing seeds. Days after that. And days after that. Days after, I'll lead life. For days after.