![[100 Challenge] Ocean_38](http://artnycnewyork.com/cdn/shop/articles/IMG_5681_1100x.jpg?v=1741915973)
Far Down Inside of Max Loneliness Was Blooming Like a Poison Flower
The room had seen a thousand washed out faces pass through. Faces glimmering in spice jars, in cutlery; reflections flashing on the insides of double-paned windows, trapped for a frantic instant then vanishing. This room, too, will vanish, spake the room. In a hurricane; or tasting the iron of the wrecking ball; or torn bit by bit by the termites, the alzheimeric way for buildings to go. No face I’ve seen can perpetuate itself, but I shall. Life is one extended mourning for itself. Life flees toward calmer shores but storms build offshore/at sea there too. Floors worn down by fanatical teenagers, bickering couples, incontinent housepets. I have taken the soles of their feet in. I have stolen their lost faces. Of all their lost memories i construct a new body. I have swept them all away and shall make of this castigated fortress an ephemeral body, an invisible body built of past curses and (whispered adorations and) babies’ glee, of all the disappeared and forgotten moments; it will be a castle of gesture, a tower built upon a tomb of disembodied memories, an ephemeral tower for my celestial ascension. I will face my glorious death and leave behind this mundane kitchen.
