Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Everything Sumerian has writing on it, words, names, names of things, stabs at catching the moment in short sharp gouges, substantiated now in one small glass-fronted wall case, marked stone. Decipher my meaning, the inexpressible fog. A fog of words parting for glimpses of sublime intention. How few remain after 4,000 years. Men don't wear shorts in Malaga.
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 5:35 PM
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