"Each time he took a walk, he felt as though he were leaving himself behind, and by giving himself up to the movement of the streets, by reducing himself to a seeing eye, he was able to escape the obligation to think, and this, more than anything else, brought him a measure of peace, a salutary emptiness within..."
"But the present is no less dark than the past, and its mystery is equal to anything the future might hold..."
"...I could scarcely look at my mailbox without getting a rush. This was my hiding place, the one spot in the world that was truly my own, and yet it linked me to the rest of the world, and in its magic darkness there was the power to make things happen..."
"I smoked one cigarette after another, but that was the only clue to my tumult..."
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Interesting to think of the mailbox as a liminal space? Ties in with our ideas about archive/the site/Nicholas Street in general perhaps?
ReplyDeleteAlso as domestic ritual, of course...