Here I sit by my large ass window, staring out at the milkgray sky, brewing up my own typhoon. This harbor is such a whore. Look at all the boats she allows to crawl all over her. Kind of like me last night, in my misguided attempt to field out some relief…I know I am really going nowhere. Let an avalanche of foam drown me. This sky, its name bears no definition – that is what’s so sexless about it. Who has the craving for a landscape, to attach yrself down into it. Little hermit poets outside of time…

I want to go and bathe. I feel like I don’t deserve to be anywhere. My great force is the unbearable secret of namelessness. Wear it like a string of prunes.