It's like minimal contact to the resuscitating suspect of the low winds that seek to rise! Every direction sign seems to get it wrong, it's a giant canopy getting stuck at the end of every page - speak pen, speak!
The articles of my existence, the drama of karma, the dance of nothingness, the holding of one's eyes from seeing unwanted but known faces, the method of separation, the battle of interrogation, all these words, nothing but seizures of idleness - speak pen, speak!
This book is an ode to capacity of expression through the art that is writing.