I thought he was doing three things. Five things he was doing escaped my notice.
Rise. Fall. Rise. Fall. Feel (nothing more than feelings, trying to forget my...
There are two ways to improve your chess game. The other one is to accept the consequences. A brain, an upbringing, soul mating, somatics to mitigate the thinking or trace it to its vivid origins, Jasper Johns, John Agee, Jean Toomer, suspicion--John Cage, John Akomfrah, Angela Davis, him, no sadness, just devastation, Mechanician, Fender Rhodes Scholar, Westerner, holler!
War and grace, in that we all know there will ever be peace, never, nigga, not even in the heave, but always generous enough to let itself be imagined. Cabin in the woods, cabin in the sky. Thief who sold his sad days as folkways records
The Ginko tree, that's ours. The thaw it wears is no worries
The blood it moves, believes it
Sometimes I hear it, then I write it, other times I write it, then hear it.
That's nothing compared to doing both at the same time, which amounts real improvisation and the consequences, not understanding one without the other, not othering ever, utterly, which make us very childlike and integrated. Not truly shy, Just sure. Structures, not subjects. I like it when you ask me questions. And then answer them for me. Like you want to save me from anonymity with prejudice. What are you used to? You're used to this. The only cure for your inexperience is a quiet walk across an unbuilt bridge.
Do you go out? She admitted she didn't. Not out there. They laughed. They grew silent. In between, something believable was not said aloud
