Rainy Day on a Bus to New York Fragment

Some of it is too much to explain. Some of it is too beautiful to photograph. Some of it can't be felt more than once. Some of it can only be felt by one. Some of it hurts too much to put away. Some of it doesn't mean anything to anyone but you. Some of it falls apart before you can show anyone what you made. Some of it is better after it's broken. Some of it seems meant to be something it may not ever be. Some of it turns out better than you wanted.

Fragments

Something in the music is both metal and elemental. The ivy tails of eighth notes wrap around iron bars of music. Words don't belong -- they only interfere.

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The town of Nepenthe is densely populated where it begins at the shore, a long sleeve of white stone houses with thatched roofs. Windows are never closed. Doors are always unlocked. Trade is considered the best currency.

Yesterday, Emperor Lucas abandoned the throne.

Today, he will arrive in Nepenthe with his wife and son to live in a house no larger than the baker's shop next door, or the cobbler's across the road.

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In reality A, January and West are twins. Both are enrolled in MIT's graduate program.

In reality B, they are unrelated and have never met. January is a prodigy pianist, and West is lonely.

In reality C, West is a graffiti artist in Tokyo, and January was never born.

In reality D, West is searching for January in the remains of Los Angeles.

In reality E, January is West's personal assistant and unpaid masseur.

In reality F, January is taking a nap in the shade of West's tombstone.

In reality G, West is the son of a Japanese mafia boss, and January can't feel his hands.