the dumb scorch of a distant and very constant sun

My silence has been professionally necessary, as I can now say that all the pieces are in place for the next phase. Suffice it to say that I reel from the dumb scorch of a very distant and constant sun (that speechless gaze), that all mysteries assure us they will only tie their secret knots fast, more tightly and more impossibly to confound the Chinese, and those to my flesh. Sometimes you wake up next to a French girl, and you watch the girl quietly dress and try to sneak out at 5:30 in the morning. You begin to wonder, and the wonder is a signal and you know that the plan is in place and working perfectly. What unknowable ritual is this? Why, when the Americans are content to lie about all morning in hopes something more will be on offer when the world has been warmed and its evening silence is civilized with the madness of motion and conversation (the STUTTERING and the SCREAMING and the constance of emergencies being carted from one locale to another more appropriate in red boxes!)?
I see eyes. Great, blue eyes with the lines of preternatural age that go to water as I feel myself and my questions slacken. It was unnecessary to take the ergot HQ provided, the holistic approach has found the intended visions presenting themselves printed out of air into my thinning arms. She could be a quiet French au pair on a holiday reprieve from her Allentown place of work, she could be a 16-year-old Polish girl from Brooklyn who speaks excellent French and wants to lie to someone.
Send cigarettes. Send money. Send sunscreen. These bottles here have nothing but butts and ashes in them. Send me a diversion, because as she left she left her ring, and I know she’ll come back for it. I’ll never be told if it was an accident or if she meant it. These questions, as I was warned, are torture. I go to take the coffee cure.
The glamour of my penury, as my job search continues, is hysterical.