15,834. FLAMES

FLAMES

I dreamed my robe caught fire, and

I was engulfed in flames. I hardly

ever wear a robe, so I'm not sure

from where that came. Ideas precede

essence, to twist a Sartrean mode.

-

Sartrean mode? Huh? You mean I need

think it before it can happen? No, not

really. Any Manhattan troglodyte can

tell you where the donuts are, but in a

dump like that they've always been.

Existence there precedes nothing.

-

It's all a maximum jumble and a minimal

twist. We go out the same way we came

in: unassuming, like a patch of clover,

or daisies in a field. I'd ask for a private

audience if I could, but no one's ever

there.

-

That robe? It's still burning, and all around

me flames consume my essence.