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Reader. Gamer. Binary Mystic.
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Tuesday, June 01, 2004
I'm reading The Voice in the Fire by Alan Moore. It loosely chronicles a string of Novembers in Northampton. Moore draws a string of pearls through the narrative that ties the book together. I can't help but think of Miami (because we all have a secret city that lives in our hearts; the calvinian citta that defines us throughout our lives).
I dream of Miami a thousand years ago. I picture the trees unmolested by the bulldozer. I see a tribe living by what we call the Miami River. I see a Miami unpolluted by us, free of the vanity of the rich, liberated from the exiles of my parents' land.
The voice that I hear at night tells me that I died a thousand years ago. I hope that I meet my death again on the banks of my city.
9:29 AM
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