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192 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2014
No argument in the world is ever resolved. Resolving would suggest some liquid in which arguments could be immersed, perhaps love. But it must be love enough.
And as much as people might think otherwise, sex is a limited idiom, not a whole language – it gets exhausted. Like a conversation that peters out into what we don't know and can't express. No doubt there are bursts of eloquence, but the prosody isn't always affective. And sometimes, just sometimes, the sex becomes less and less compelling like a stilted idiolect.
The best way of looking at a summer sunset in this city is in the rear-view mirror. Or better, the side mirrors of a car. So startling. The subtlety, the outerworldliness of the sunset follows you. If only you could drive that way forever. It's counterintuitive, you understand, but you get a wide measure of that quotidian beauty. If you ever travel east along Dupont Street, at that time, look back. Despite this not being a particularly handsome street – in fact it is most often grim – you may see, looking back, looking west, something breathtaking. It is perhaps because this street is so ugly; car-wrecking shops, taxi dispatch sheds, rooming houses, hardware stores, desolate all-night diners and front yards eaten up by a hundred winters' salt; it is because of all this that a sunset is in the perfect location here. Needed.