Status Updates From Under the Sign of the Labyr...

I have a vision of my mind sharing discourse with another, not in language as I know it, but in gestures made of flesh, bleeding paper mouths, and the noises of time. A vision of bodies decaying as flawlessly as black-and-white images, so sharp their edges could cut my eyes just by looking at them.

Vain and cruel, I have become a self that contains all negations to come, I have escaped the universe of time and space—page after page, touch after touch, train after train. I have become the idea of a sea beast moving in the deep. I have become the labyrinth. I am entombed in poetry. In the first stanza, in the last, in the blueness of thirsting ink—in the bruising of eternity. I have become alone. I am alone.

I write to know I am not dead.