Doomed enterprises divide lives forever into the then and now

Acts have their being in the witness. Without him who can speak of it? In the end one could even say that the act is nothing, the witness all.

The world shrinking down about a raw core of parsible entities. The names of things slowly following those things into oblivion. Colors. The names of birds. Things to eat. Finally the name of things one believed to be true. More fragile than he would have thought. How much was gone already? The sacred idiom shorn of its referents and so of its reality. Drawing down like something trying to preserve heat. In time to wink out forever.

Deep in each man is the knowledge that something knows of his existence. Something knows, and cannot be fled nor hid from.

What would you do if I died? If you died I would want to die too. So you could be with me? Yes. So I could be with you. Okay.

He thought each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins. As in a party game. Say the words and pass it on. So be sparing. What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not.

Creedless shells of men tottering down the causeways like migrants in a feverland.