A fishing trip up-river from Niagara Falls.
Small talk maybe,
But there’s nothing special to say.
Sometimes we have to be able to forget what we talk about.
There’s an unresolved transference of information;
Vague associations, reminders, leftovers,
Crap that you carry around with you whether you want to or not.
Just material traces of non-events.
People use the term “black hole” as a way to describe total destruction
An irreducible point,
A place where things spiral forever,
And never rot.
Text by Bitsy Knox