Dear So Many Things,
When I read what I wrote you, I see air rushed out. It is as if, I watched the
train and took the breeze, out of town. I get the feeling, with certainty. Soon
you won't anymore, soon you will return the envelopes and I will be left only
your hands. I have accumulated evidence for this. It amounts to, what I saw was
my owned fault. The things we've left there for a while—I don't expect them,
going on what I've seen or where I've looked. Nod twice if you agree. Here's
to hoping we find an apparent glass to raise, recursive and diligent. Here's to
next time: We will be just a little lighter, a lot softer, and one fewer.
Our bodies are given life from the midst of nothingness. Existing
where there is nothing is the meaning of the phrase, "Form is
emptiness." That all things are provided for by nothingness is the
meaning of the phrase, "Emptiness is form." One should not think that
these are two separate things.
-- Quote from the film, "Ghost Dog"
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