Here they linger, forever unripe though hanging no longer – a stack of fallow wishes. Illegible notes, abandoned books, old alcoves, burnt-out wicks, a dull theatre of half-spoken syllables waiting to fall silent once and for all.
‘I didn’t know it at the time, but my deepest wish was to embody neutrality. To remain at a remove, wise to the commotion and therefore immune to it. A nameless, inconspicuous god. A Great Equalizer, a Sphinx.’
‘To hold hollowness in check. That was it, I think.’
‘To understand how meaning rushes headlong into meaninglessness and the obverse. Two rivers flowing into one another (come winter, one and the same).’
‘I have not buried a single one. They are still with me, though none of them have borne fruit.’
‘To leave a trace and become the absence of its inscriber.’
cosmin toma 