Crippling hunger, empty plates and empty glasses, the table is one leg short of stability. There is no use in anything — trying to keep things together and trying to keep things as simple as possible.
He no longer has any belief in things that others rely on so religiously, yet there is something that helps him see the light at the end of the tunnel. Experience? Age? Maybe the knowledge of what seems so dark now eventually will seem grey later on?
He has no desire to seek the answer in the mystical realm yet there is always that ‘something’ which remains inexplicable. He’s wasted too many tears on things which have become increasingly less valuable. He’s wasted too much energy on things which only seek to sap it from one’s soul.
There is something that feeds the hunger in the spirit, something he can’t always articulate properly. This intense hunger is never satisfied when he knows nourishment is deliberately held back due to fear of vaporization. This intense hunger to feel, to love — can never get enough of it, and he always goes for a second helping, this intense hunger to touch her as much as she’s touched him.
New York City, May 2001