apr 25, 2012
” . . . Creation from nothing. What has she in the bag?
A misbirth with a trailing navelcord, hushed in ruddy wool. The cords of all link back,
strandentwining cable of all flesh. That is why mystic monks. Will you be as gods? Gaze in
your Omphalos. Hello! Kinch here. Put me on to Edenville. Aleph, alpha: nought, nought,
Stephen ascribes a crime to the midwife on the beach. A phonecall to the navel of the world.