The Evolution From Happiness To Habit Is

Time Is Born In The Eyes, Everybody Knows That.

Once In A While It Happens That I Vomit Up A Bunny... It's Not Reason For One To Blush And Isolate Oneself And To Walk Around Keeping One's Mouth Shut.

She Would Smile And Show No Surprise, Convinced As She Was, The Same As I, That Casual Meetings Are Apt To Be Just The Opposite, And That People Who Make Dates Are The Same Kind Who Need Lines On Their Writing Paper, Or Who Always Squeeze Up From The Bottom On A Tube Of Toothpaste.

I Raised The Camera, Pretended To Study A Focus Which Did Not Include Them, And Waited And Watched Closely, Sure That I Would Finally Catch The Revealing Expression, One That Would Sum It All Up, Life That Is Rhythmed By Movement But Which A Stiff Image Destroys, Taking Time In Cross Section, If We Do Not Choose The Essential Imperceptible Fraction Of It.

You're Like A Witness. You're The One Who Goes To The Museum And Looks At The Paintings. I Mean The Paintings Are There And You're In The Museum Too, Near And Far Away At The Same Time. I'm A Painting. Rocamadour Is A Painting. Etienne Is A Painting, This Room Is A Painting. You Think That You're In The Room But You're Not. You're Looking At The Room, You're Not In The Room.