There is no shelter from the chatter. There is no quiet unless you work for it. There is a blind spot in us all. There are omnipresent eyes… There are tones fighting in my ears. Meeting harmony in certain middle. Coercing me AS I write this gibberish. As I sit with a book in my lap. As I contemplate coffee and spectators AND the fortitude of omnipresent gazes. Speculating child games then laughing with myself in the corner. In this corner I’m collecting all of the chatter AND someone or something that IS not me but INSIDE of me is cataloging it and encoding it on memory places.

Disheveled documents in the dark.