City Of Folding Faces

As her arousal ratcheted upward toward a familiar godhead, she was surprised to feel a brief sensation of awe at the fearsome enormity of her own loneliness.

The city had a lonely temperature.

Had she finally come untethered from the remote control of signifiers? Was she finally free from the automatic tyranny of understanding?

“Our past failures pave the way for our future successes,

That our history is a story is a lie we keep being told. It has a shape, yes, but that shape has no more order or meaning than does a clump of hair in a shower drain. At best it is a flickering recollection of sensations haphazardly linked, catalogued and stored for eventual dissolution.

The rare moments of weakness in which he desired beautiful women made his life feel disordered and foreign.

But most rooms are not a color that exists, they’re the relationship of areas of light. If you try to trap such descriptions in containers of syntax, you’ll only get the big, clumpy, ugly parts.

Unlike people, who must sometimes supplement their lack of physical charm with works of great beauty and taste, a plant’s life’s work is its phenotype.

the screams expressed not anger but an acknowledgment that the unstoppable cold drift of time between them could not be bridged, and that they would soon be reduced to shouting simple instructions to each other from distant ice floes until their deaths.