20 June 2006
An Excerpt From a Work Inked in Tattoos on Several Hundred People, One Word Per Person
You built a house without windows. Cheaper, you said, but without light you were no different than a blind mole scampering around in dark tunnels. You said you liked the cozy feeling. We brought you glass. Offered to punch holes in the walls. The structure has an integrity all its own, you said. Don’t destroy anything on a whim, you said. We were perplexed. Kindness kept us from telling the truth: madness unchecked will proliferate. We sat with you in the dark. Invented flickers of light somewhere. You passed us cheese and crackers. We reached for them, feeling only trust.