We Live In A Moment

When The Clock Stops On A Life, All Things Emanating From It Become Precious, Finite, And Cordoned Off For Preservation. Each Aspect Of The Dead Person Is Removed From The Flux Of The Everyday, Which, Of Course, Is Where We Miss Him Most. The Quarantine Around Death Makes It Feel Unlucky And Wrong--a Freakish Incursion--and The Dead, Thus Quarantined, Come To Seem More Dead Than They Already Are.... Borrowing From The Dead Is A Way Of Keeping Them Engaged In Life's Daily Transactions--in Other Words, Alive.

Sometimes I Imagine Myself Looking Back On Right Now And I Think Like Where Will I Be Standing When I Look Back Will Right Now Look Like The Beginning Of A Great Life Or... Or What

Some Mornings... I Sit At The Kitchen Table Shaking Salt Into The Hairs On My Arm, And A Feeling Shoves Up In Me: It's Finished. Everything Went Past Without Me.

Too Clear, Too Clean. The Problem Was Precision, Perfection.

I Had This Idea That I Could Hire Myself Out As A Person To Go On Archeological Digs And Dig, Without Any Training! I Actually Wrote To A Number Of Archeology Departments And Offered Up My Services.