Chat Room

P. entered a third space from which he could watch time pass instead of walking to the monastery in the middle of the night. His opaque sexuality derived from the absence of a guarantee that his person would remain intact. He recognized this in himself and we stared at the pylons regressing into the lackluster northeastern woods. The monastery was a display before which he claimed sangfroid a picturesque ruin to which he was conveyed as though by boreal fluid. Everyone loved occasional works like this their allusions to complementary and absent events. Weaving around proliferating drywall I despaired over this desire. P. joined the migrant workforce and grew more disconsolate and distant and drunk in our presence. Our presence was only possible because of advances in technology in a dialectical relationship with their debasement: servers in cold rooms and a recursive void of woodblock chat sounds.