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Is is. There is no distinction between ideology and image. One. He records his name on a gold medallion. Two. The philosopher must say is. The world is legion. The self is a suffering form. Is is. Waves rise and fall, but the sea remains.
From Voyager, published by University of California. Copyright © 2011 by Srikanth Reddy. Used by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.
I promised my wife that I would call Dr. Song today. After putting Mira down for her nap and slipping outside for a smoke, I lifted the receiver. The sound it emitted, which I have heard without pause countless times before, seemed to me otherworldly now, like somebody’s finger playing on the wet rim of a crystal bowl in a derelict theater before the wars.
Admittedly I may be blowing my <6 mm mole somewhat
out of proportion in the general scheme of things. At my
last follow-up, Dr. Song gently reminded me that we
entered the “catabasis” phase of my journey through
dermatological oncology some time ago.
Then the pulse. Then a pause. Then twilight in a box. Dusk underfoot. Then generations. * Then the same war by a different name. Wine splashing in a bucket. The erection, the era. Then exit Reason. Then sadness without reason. Then the removal of the ceiling by hand. * Then pages & pages of numbers. Then the page with the faint green stain. Then the page on which Prince Theodore, gravely wounded, is thrown onto a wagon. Then the page on which Masha weds somebody else. Then the page that turns to the story of somebody else. Then the page scribbled in dactyls. Then the page