cutting great neck

the house is freshly naked, just as when we entered it. it's a reawakening of sorts, or a degeneration; like a man reduced to his birth, young, innocent.

or perhaps that is how i feel about how i used to be then.

i remember my first visit clearly: green foliage so profusely lathering the yard. wooden walls, red, peeling walls.

je lamais.




and our first week here. the birth; the beginning. sleeping in this room, in the one i'm currently writing, the "office", mattress spread on the floor, the darkness seeping in with the wind. i remember sitting in the den, watching some movie; that larger-than-life room like a saga of its own beauty, feeling more naked than any other place. the silence boomed through the wood.

and now each room is more naked the next, again, memories of the beginning more lucid than this rekindled history.



as we came, so we leave.