Status Updates From Short Talks

ah yes the classic:
The reason I drink is to understand the yellow sky the great yellow sky,
said Van Gogh. When he looked at the world he saw the nails that attach
colours to things and he saw that the nails were in pain.

The radio is on the
floor. Its luminous green dial blares softly. He sits down at the table;
people in exile write so many letters. Now Ovid is weeping. Each night
about this time he puts on sadness like a garment and goes on writing.
In his spare time he is teaching himself the local language (Getic) in
order to compose in it an epic poem no one will ever read.

I went travelling to a wreck of a place. There were three gates standing
ajar and a fence that broke off. It was not the wreck of anything else in
particular. A place came there and crashed. After that it remained the
wreck of a place. Light fell on it.

In every story I tell comes a point where
I can see no further. I hate that point. It is why they call storytellers blind
– a taunt.