May 2, 2006

Turnstile

I sometimes think it all still lives in me, everything I’ve seen and experienced. When I think this way, I see myself as a field in which things grow and die, each taking root in soil fed by what came before. In this way everything connects back to the first thing, which in a sense still remains. It remains in what remains.

Other times – most times – I see myself as a turnstile: each thing passes through me and is gone.