white-story

If you read any of my stories or novels, the drama is the same: some fucked up, damaged, terrifying situation and this nearly hysterical determination to spin away from the meat grinder through language, through comedy, through metaphor, through a sort of manic refusal to give in.

Thought:

“I want to hear the one thing speak that
cannot speak.
I want to know the things that can’t be known.

I want to speak only here in his closed book.
To hear those sorts of things said, that can
only be spoken in this sort of closed silence.
When the rest of the world is not awake to any
of this, and I also would rather be sleeping.
The wind making its marks on the other side of day.
And the crystal only keeping its lights, to itself.
And to me.”

Clark Coolidge | This Time We Are Both

INSTAGRAM

BANDCAMP

YOUTUBE