Hard Core
Even the minimalist drinks beer, though he lives alone in a modest place
and walks everywhere. Sits on the floor with Rumi and a frying pan
with couscous. He touches himself to the rhythm of pixels on a screen;
contemplates the mystery of a bulb, red and yellow flame of Semper
Augustus streaming down his face. A wasp is crawling on the ceiling,
lost among plaster stalactites. He perceives it has taken a wrong turn, opens
the window for the breeze to draw it out, watches it regain a sense of bearing
and fly …
