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Please be continually informed that you never really own anything, and we always, always own everything.


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Public Library

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They say I was born out of a cyclone, but it isn’t so. I *ate* a cyclone. Voices from thousands of old books whirled around inside of me, flung to the walls of my insides by the smoothest centrifugal force. Then my outsides transformed into the fuselage of an aeroplane and I ascended to the darkest blue edge of the stratosphere, bidding farewell to the grass and the trees and the people. Suddenly, I was wide awake, and I never slept again. Equivalent to my sleep were the ideas at rest inside of me. At dawn the filament at the top of the sky brightened gradually, an echo of other variations of light.
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