Statement of Record
The threshold that divides his memory in two was a deep gap. This deep emptiness was filled with a hum. The sound of shouting. Tear gas. With nerve gas. With fog. The void was covered with the smell of burnt people. Megaphone sounds. Threats. Crumbling walls. With shattered doors. There’s never been a threshold, there’s never been one.
To go out with me for fresh air or for some sun and to listen to the birds. . . to go out with me is to watch behind my back to be anticipating what is ahead to look for kids suddenly lurching out of the bushes out of my mind. . . to be out with me is not to be out with me and I don’t know how I can change that unless all the stop lights remain green and no one...
Statement of Record