1. homilies from home
You’ve got to put your pants on in the house of fact. And in the house of fact, when you take off your shirt, you can hear your shirt cry out,
Facts are the floor, facts are how you make the right side talk to the left. I’m washing my naked belly clean, and doing it with dignity.
I’m turning around, trying to see the filthiness that keeps making me filthy. I’ve scraped away my molecules right down to the atoms’ emptiness and arranged the map’s folds so that nobody can see it breaking into fits of weeping.
Now that even our eyes have their dedicated poverties, now that even our eyes are chained to their slavish occupations, whatever the soul lacks drains the soul to nothing.
I hate to admit it, but even the house of fact is a house of ruin.