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The Process / The Barriers / The Air
The process of art is the process of a struggle between material and thought, and to create art of real value is to arrive at some meaningful relation between the two – one that is harmonious, or not. But where does that leave the man who has never heard a great truth spoken, except by chance? The man who has sat on a hill, and let the moon grow accustomed to his eyes? I worry for him.
down by the sea across the road from the empty cafés there was a gap in the white concrete barriers that ran along the top of the sea wall where you would walk by and so when the surf broke down below on the sharp black rocks it would spray up across the sidewalk and the gray asphalt in a shimmering plume and fall over you, as well
He said the storm didn’t scare him, and he said you wouldn’t believe how cold the air inside a balloon is in the instant before it bursts. There was an execution happening in the parking lot and the cameras caught it all. We watched the sheet get pulled up over the body from a distance sitting with the wipers on and we watched the fat sheriff pull up and tell the night watchman to go ahead and erase the tapes. The words got lost in the rain and the folds of the shirt on the fat sheriff’s back looked like a man’s head wrapped in a hood from a distance. He said if you could feel how cold the air is in that instant it would turn your flesh to stone and you would never work again.
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