I am walking in a general direction, minding my own business. And you who stare at me because I travel with a guide dog–who imagine I can’t tell you’re staring, here: I give you my lonelines, for there is no harm in taking advantage of such situations.
There is no harm in showing you your own contingent of bones. You sir, you are just an able bodied staring machine; your life is composed of a few tepid observations, that’s all. And you walk around with the borrowed majesty of of an idol. Instead of courae you have the false imperious.
Here, at the brink of disorder and danger, my ordinary street crossing, I give you my primordial weight.
My only affliction is the unforgiving earth. What’s yours?
Planet of the Blind 