I have just finished an amazing read, Stone Junction, by Jim Dodge. I’ll spare you my inadequate synopsis, but suffice it to say, you should add it to your 2005 reading list.
I’ve been mulling over the finer points with friends, but I wanted to share this insight with you because I’ve quoted and misquoted this particular page several times over the last few days.
The mind is a glass floor.
The mind is the spirit’s tear.
The mind is our prior and subsequent ghost.
The mind is the Bullion Express and the blood on the tracks.
The mind is a stone door.
The silver on the backs of mirrors.
The wave that defines the coast.
It’s what the drunk grave robbers couldn’t stuff in their sacks.
The mind is the sum of all and more.
The spasm between one and zero in the Calendar of Black-Hole Years.
The contract between the lash and the whipping post.
A quilt of dreams stitched with facts.
A meaningless argument among whores.
Rain that keeps falling when the sky clears.
A masquerade party, guest and host.
A candlelit landscape of puddled wax.
The mind is what thought is for.
The parking lot at the Mall of Fears.
The fire-pit for the piggy roast.
What the soul surrendered and won’t take back.
The mind is neither either nor or.
The real center of an empty sphere.
I’m sort of partial to the argument among whores definition.