~I have it under good authority the sun will die in San Jose. i have been there and thrown myself under the warm glow, the petrifying decadence of it’s assassination, on it’s own motel balcony, it’s own motercade. my awe sliced, nailed to the expression it inhabits, exhibited as artifact and final correspondence to confirm consistency. nothing but white heat and pale judgment paralysed by the intensity, a metronome welded to scattered hours. all faith betrayed  by the knuckles of number 5, a birth with one violent defect, a degenerative darkness exhumed by humid fingers…what does that remind you of?? voices cutting their way out of the city chased by the black swell?? ghosts on minimum wage mining the back of number 7 for the decimals we throw away?? all the white noise growing where the bodies lay.