Life on the whole can be disappointing. Then you look over and there’s a frangipani on your shoulder. It’s the rich warmth of fresh night air with a hollow sinking emptiness. It’s a shiny-faced perfectly functioning android with no reception.
I turn my phone off for 24hrs. There was a time when every minute ached; now that barely scratches the surface of the disconnection I seek.
I carry my groceries and my arms burn, like this anger turned inwards. James Hollis, my whole fucking life is a middle passage.