Written words as a substitute for sound, but I can't think of a substitute for time. At the Whitney Biennial, a video by Amie Siegel with a memorable frame: one car driving, a sticker in the bottom left corner of the back window: DDR.
In the video, an interview:
"How was life for you growing up?"
"It was good. I had no existential fears at all. Later, then, I feared for my existence."
A black box. A broken moment of perfection. Time again. Always time (not more of it, nor less, just the word in space).
Two nights ago, after a concert, a woman hitting on me on the uptown 2 train.
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