outwait outrun outwit





TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


08.17.06, thursday evening

Every moment since I read my father's e-mail has been one pensive intake after another, of breath, of memory, and in each is a sudden, complete, and brief awareness that an irreducible life is gone, irretrievable as a lit match that has fallen into an ocean. Is this what you call mourning?







<<

hosted by DiaryLand.com

free
web stats