What I studied studied me. Or ignored me. Indifferent and turning sharply. Soothed from a turbulence I didn’t understand. What I studied parted like water and then returned, the very adversary of the spirit, fed vividly with silver and a filth made of frog’s skin and Queen Anne’s Lace. The poisons shone from it, hot with motion, caustic as the zero place, uniform in their extinguished grinding. Limestone-fiery and blessed as the heat.
I was struck by the found vibration it made, by its music both putrid and glassblown, robust, by its blind yield and sounding board, and how it made a carpet of all one could see, the way a prism takes the eye and slices from it the whole so that gravity returns to color and it can be perceived and be at rest. At best, it took months to find this core. But once I saw it, I was amazed.