Sheet of Glass

My bedroom is on the third floor, and my window is thin.  I am currently listening to the reverberations caused by a semi truck, three people talking and laughing loudly on the sidewalk, and the occasional profound howl of a dog that is either begging for attention or is on the verge of dying.  All of this accented, periodically, by the slamming of car doors in a nearby heavy-traffic parking lot.

These are some of the reasons I love living where I live.

I will always prefer loud, frank ways of being and living and doing things.  For me it is the quiet, careful and stifled actions that have always signified danger. The glorified turn-taking and level-voiced polite spaces of the world have always, in the end, revealed some of the sickest, deepest, and most ensnaring forms of violence that I have ever experienced.




-k.

(image: Laurence Demaison, Self Portrait Body Water via Bizarre Disco tumblr)