"Is it morning? Morning stretched out before us like a long body of cosmic intuition, when the hours of the day are fast as minutes or, rather, is it afternoon, when one is tempted to slumber in the thickness of greasy thighs dripping the slowest of times, minutes as fat as hours danegrously close to the edge of a perpetual Dream? I am a little sad about this loss of time, about not knowing who I am or where it is I'm activating myself. But there's something liberating about it too. I feel like I'm getting beyond clinging. Beyond clinging yet still capable of being caught in an emotional itinerary of happy sad."