Get it all here.
You find yourself among words: "people," "faces," "clothing," "teeth" and "hair." And words. And many words. The meaningless hegemony of the involuntary. The wet words touch your shoulders on each side. When words are there you care that they are there. Like them, you too want to get as far away as possible from where you were born.
Words are like cushions to protect us from the knowledge of isolation. The screen here's very strange. When you look "into" it you often have the sensation that it is not a solid thing, protecting you from what's behind. Nothing, no words. We've never managed to get all the way away from them.
Words blow along the ground into his mouth as he sings.
Apologies to Paul Bowles.
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