Essay On Tilt
Original illustrations by Anne Le Guern Listen:
Winter. A small door opens, and on the other side, a brightness.
The square of sky at the office window is a thin blue, placid and flat and there is no life in it.
The sill is deep and there is ice at the end of it.
Someone in a machine moves snow in the courtyard; otherwise, the unenforced silence feels like the last institutional luxury.
I think of summer as a bombardment or as a series of advertisements. I partake, order from the website, eat and eat and am ill. These green billboards, these wet magnetic strips. In contrast—
The cold and dry disposition, &c—
The parallelism is dull, as truths often are. The salt
