“on any given day, i am likely to pass a relatively (and i state relatively in terms of the extent that i have grown to appreciate the subtle ridges and contours of the personalities of those who i hold both dear and in contempt) large amount of time fingering through a series of mental files I have ordered according to importance, girth, and substance in my own, solitary, dispossessed, and rickety mind. as i do this, and to myself alone, I characterize situations, circumstances in a series of high contrast bromide prints, developed in blood, stopped in urine, and fixed in tears, washed clean only by evacuating breath, arid, without identity, formed of cancer ridden lungs and whistled between stained teeth and jaundiced tongue. these images are catalogued to me according to the taste in my mouth and errors in my veins, and the syntax is often rendered opaque due to my tendency to speak quickly, to mumble through entire states of mind, to render myself unintelligible; half inadvertent and half borne of an assumed irrelevance of whatever it is that i could state. and so, in light of this perceived inadequacy, i write now, in detail, in finger strokes, without much of an awareness of what it is i feel or am compelled to share”
