I Suppose I do believe in nothing, except we are briefly here and beauty does occur for us. I’ll try as an answer a little while, though I also hope for desire and its coming in clearly, and fulfillment, a collection of cells, geology and weather, desire actual as weather. Everything is going soon, so what if I walk like a fisherman. I’ve walked like an ocean, too, like an oar. It converts one into a belief which is shaking. Everything permeated, permanent. Nothing really ends or stays, you know. Though there will be a time when we may merely speak, as breath admits, as the admissions of breath, so what if this season euphoria comes, the mood equivalent to wet dreams, in the oddest hours of one’s living through.
Zach Savich, 2010.
