this is what I have to tell you, what I have had you over to tell you even though it is christmas eve and we are both obligated to be with our families. That is what normal people do on christmas eve, decent people, but I am setting that aside, see, I have brought you here even though it is indecent and you had to walk in the cold along the wire fence and the tundra which this evening looks like russia, like the russia that lines the volga river, and not at all like the neva, the neva is lined with the sherbet Italianate stones that peter put there in the 1700s, when peter wanted russia to be french.
listen. you keep looking out the window but it is dark, too dark to see anything and you are not listening.
yesterday I licked the source of the woods. The source of the woods is a deep pit of churned earth and rose-colored quartz, maybe it is marble, I am not a connoisseur of stones, you know this.
at the source of the woods I found the relics of my childhood blanketed in dust and soot, the soot is a mysterious substance, it do not know where the soot came from. It appeared to me that the relics of my childhood were there to be incinerated, or that previous attempts to incinerate the relics of my childhood had already been made. But who would do this? Is this something I would do?