Status Updates From 耶稣之子

But I felt about the circular hallway of the Beverly Home as about the place where, between our lives on this earth, we go back to mingle with other sounds waiting to be born.

He’s take me by the shirtfront and say things like, “There’s a price to be paid for dreaming.” I covered his fingers with my own.

It was there. It was. The long walk down the hall. The door opening. The beautiful stranger. The torn moon mended. Our fingers touching away the tears. It was there.

Sunset had two minutes left to live.

There was a man with a tall black hat, a helmet of thick blond hair, and a sharp blond beard. He seemed to want to be here. How did he know what to do? Beautiful women in the corners of my sight disappeared when I looked directly at them. Winter outside. Night by afternoon. Darkly, darkly the Happy Hour. I didn’t know the rules. I didn’t know what to do.

She laughed like God. I didn’t blame her for laughing.

-you could feel him materializing and dematerializing in there. In the darkness under the universe it didn’t matter that the driver was a blind man. He felt the future with his face. And suddenly the train hushed as if the wind had been kicked out of it, and we came into the evening again.

the little cubicle filled with the driver

-the mysterious crystal of its inertia. We’d picked him up and now we were moving. He sat down near the front of the car, completely unaware of his importance. With what kind of miserable or happy fate did he have an appointment across the river?

At one of the stops down the line there was a problem with the doors. We were delayed, those of us who had destinations, anyway. The train waited and waited in a troubling sleep. Then it hummed soft. You can tell it’s going to move before it moves.
A guy stepped in just as the doors closed. The train had waited for him all this time, not a second longer than his arrival, not even half a second, and then it broke-

What if there was just snow? Snow everywhere, cold and white, filling every distance? And I just follow my sense of things through this winter until I reach a grove of white trees. And she takes me in.

The road we were lost on cut straight through the middle of the world. It was still daytime, but the sun had no more power than an ornament or a sponge.

After a while you forget it’s summer. You don’t remember what the morning is