What god-damn day is it? What god-damn day???
The Subway pulled away in the empty passageway, the conductor peeking out and looking both ways in case anyone was struggling between the automatic doors. His head like a lone sentry perched on the top-edge of a submarine rolling in the lonely ocean, collapsing backwards (in advance of the tunnel) like a shutter pulled-in-and-fastened during a storm.
This is not from it. I’m writing something large and I think I’m learning about writing. I think you learn most about writing when you write large things. Last night I fell asleep at an early hour and continued to be asleep, I was sick and I missed my chance– other times I’ve woken at earlier (later) hours to get my words in, and this time I did miss it, in the morning when I woke up. As if a great pressure on my head had not been relieved. The cream had been left on top– the separated milk was abandoned for another day to roll, rock, and spoil.
The epiphany yesterday was this: school is a warm breast I need to cling-to and curl. Why certain, daily, work-like things were jumped into and triumphed over study of the holy word, I do not know. My strategy now, (our strategy, I think?) is to spend the next few years digging ourselves into a pit of unmanageable debt, building hiding-holes and outposts crammed high with books along the way. I need to think in a way that’s not, I need to understand things in a place where I’m not screamed out by a whirring screen. My back burns, and my right arm raises like that of an undeveloped child. Work is peasant-work robbed of the noble toil. There is little mind in this, and few opportunities to waste ourselves in pursuit of the holy fruit.