Books leave gestures in the body; a certain way of moving, of turning, a certain closing of the eyes, a way of leaving, hesitations. Books leave certain sounds, a certain pacing; mostly they leave the elusive, which is all the story. They leave much more than the words.
Fashions are not fashions at all but refashioning; language is not communication but reinvention. They are never in place but on display.
If I see someone I see the ghost of them, the air around them, and where they’ve been. If I see a city I see it’s living ghostliness—the stray looks, the dying hands. I see it’s needs and its discomforts locked in apartments.
People here believe in uncontrollable passion, in mad rages, and in the brusque inevitability of death.
I felt the unordinary romance of / women who love women for the first time.
Cities collect people, stray and lost and deliberate arrivants.
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