Language makes tracks.

I suppose I had always hoped that, through an act of will and an effort of practice, I might be someone else, might alter my personality and even my appearance, that I might in fact create myself, but instead I found myself trapped in the very character which made such a thought possible and such a wish mine.

Sirens an emergency far away that I will never then knew. Statement made my story. Arguments undermined it but brought up water.

We have a come a long way from what we actually felt.

Middle school library light, the magazine racks and the stacks. The light moving slowly up the wall in a recent story. Shouting nuns. Honduran refugees were on the Gulf Coast a long time before rooftops.

Realism, if it addresses the real, is inexhaustible.

Flaking paint on long rusted metal boxes. Fog lingered for days, made weather that called for taking jackets off, for carrying crumpled plastic and sweet musty gray material on forearm. The old man did not wave to you as the garbage men would come for the palm fronds. Obviously no one has swept in ages. Does the wind make those trees bend like that. Or did they cut them that way.

Language makes tracks.

Stuck, objectified, you hauled your ill-gotten prey through the wood and left stained-glass shadows. The word knew it was too serious for pigeons, for porn. The Victorian period is not past. Love between men is simply civilized, provokingly back into the bush. This wood that makes me feel so comfortable. Your balconies. The ice cream truck. A lack of dust. The curtains were made to block the sun. Pots of gumbo served with jalapeños, tabasco and Korea. If ever belief, then the cornice pieces the new colors invisible to these Daltonic eyes the sky blue isolated from roof lines, palm trees, rocks make out a torso lures passersby into the dirt where long worm tails hid from the coffee and goats. Imagine: the light did not wake me!

Imagine: never to be unintelligible!

"How am I to choose between all the subjects I have remembered because they once seemed beautiful to me, now that I feel much the same about them all," he answered.

Quotes from
My Life, Lyn Hejinian: 47-8, 51, 101, 60, 66, 73.

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