To Martin, with much friendship and respect: a writing that i found even more inspirational than a poem about gardenburger...
Time seems to pass. The world happens, unrolling into moments, and you stop to glance at a spider pressed to its web. There is a quickness of light and a sense of things outlined precisely and streaks of running lustre on the bay. You know more surely who you are on a strong bright day after a storm when the smallest falling leaf is stabbed with self-awareness. The wind makes a sound in the pines and the world comes into being, irreversibly, and the spider rides the wind-swayed web.
-Don Delillo, 'The Body Artist'
posted by ekeith @ 8:56 PM
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