JOURNEYING YOUR WAY
"I saw a scrap of omelette on the kitchen floor, and I thought to myself, "If I have guests they are damn sloppy. I'll cut their throats and throw the lot of 'em out." But when I bent to pick it up I groant; it was not a piece of hard egg, but a piece of stuffing. Something had delaminated and it wasn't the linoleum. It wasn't the subfloor and it wasn't the atmosphere in the crawlspace. It was the inner meaninglessness of my house, and by extension my time there and my act. Then it turned out I did have guests after all and that their throats were already cut, and their bodies were already pitched out into the yard, and the birds had already eaten them, and collectors had already carried away the bones. So the distraction was already gone, but I still had to act. The house was already becoming sterile."