fear, an oxymoron

d feared waking up, changed, feared the shifted state of consciousness as a state of permanence. i feared staying awake, of knowing these things, of being so conscious. neither of us approached the question of not waking, or he did, as one personality would lie dormant as another pursued the day, a life.

it is always a shame when opportunists get ahead

you grab the guest book and leave your thumbprint

will

w was always in tribeca, d in soho, that i could remember him, turning around, a glass wall behind him. will would pause, find sunlight, disappear and return to names, places, images. i found c along the stack of black glass boxes, finding a painting, a ghost walking toward me as i knew he had walked before, the twist of movement, the revelation of slowness. there were twenty six minutes and ten more and then goodbye.

atelier

at·el·ier

(āt'l-yā') n. A workshop or studio, especially for an artist or designer

vagrant

a person who wanders about idly and has no permanent home or employment.
wandering or roaming from place to place, nomadic.
(of plants) straggling in growth.
neither fixed nor settled.

[where does the vagrant depart from the flaneur? where does one have purpose, the other, at once nomadic, idle, dilettante? one on a derive, the other lost.]

avi

who are you writing to he asked. i did not realize the entire work read as a letter, a page to fold and enclose, an essay of intention, of specific eyes and mind. or--did he say, who are you writing--meaning what character, what person--did he ask, who is this?