in this world
we walk on the roof of hell
gazing at flowers
Kobayashi Issa
Denis Johnson
The man hanging out of the wrecked car was still alive as I passed, and I stopped, grown more used to the idea now of how really badly broken he was, and made sure there was nothing I could do. He was snoring loudly and rudely. His blood bubbled out of his mouth with every breath. He wouldn't be taking many more. I knew that, but he didn't, and therefore I looked down into the great pity of a person's life on this earth. I don't mean that we all end up dead, that's not the great pity. I mean that he couldn't tell me what he was dreaming, and I couldn't tell him what was real. Denis Johnson Jesus' Son
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