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the closest we seem to get to the present are
those brief moments we stop to consider the spaces our bodies are occupying,
as if the only way we can hold time still is by trying physically to prevent the objects around us from moving.
circular daydream of everyday life,
time that has come and gone but left us somehow untouched.
sense of being cast outside time
as though the possibility of death was contained in even the most routine of actions, in even the ordinary, unnoticed moments of life.
to find something worth surrendering to.
incongruity between his environment and what was going on inside him
private shrine to the memory of all those anonymous lives.
