Dr. No: A Novel

Time is like nothing. Everybody keeps it, but nobody knows where. It’s always lost or lost track of or standing still when it’s not flying by. You know, that’s all music is. Time. Time to recognize related tones, time to rest, to repeat, reminding us that all movement is mere illusion. There can be times on top of times, while one time slows down,

“Unlike rivers, one can in fact step in the same shit twice.”

pure meaning did not exist, never did and never would. Meaning is always constructed after the fact.

When I was very young, I didn’t trust speech, believing that other, nonword languages would intrude, complicate, or obstruct meaning, body language, facial expressions, timing, inflection, and so I wrote notes, letters.

“Professor, no one is born with a name.”