But I know. They re the finished work of slaves, waiting for me. I can build the little guy half asleep. When I take a red root from the bin and stick it in the smallest ball, I m more relaxed than a king who s planted a tree. The photos of my gestures go to the center.
Immortality is always nihilistic.
My god is a cruel yellow bug, it settles wherever it wants. My god is a thousand flashes in a single cube of sugar. Now I dip it into coffee in your castle, just as fate dealt with your two children, Katrina Trask. The sugar vanishes, I vanish. I wipe my forehead.