The use of glass has been significant to me because of the way it appears and the way I see it. Glass is beautiful and shiny. Just like the human's eye or the clear water. And like the glimpse of the fringe on a young Scandinavian sitting by her grandma's polished window, gazing out on the glittering sea. Or like an idea in my head before it is carried out into action. Say, everything that is unspoken, that I never said anything about and now I am left in a void. Like those tops of the mountains reaching further and further. Like the Japanese sister bleaching down her kitchen after yesterday's situation. Sometimes when I pass that picture hanging in the hallway I can smell her house. All that meat hanging and those dogs barking. Howling out in the light summer night, just to meet my own roar. When I close my eyes you are still there, tapping your bare foot on the wet floor. Your performance always keeps me awake. Just like your frisk breath, you know, when you shape your mouth into a big circle and you breathe in and out, and the room is so cold that I can see the color of your lungs. Crisp words. Sharp taps. Dog teeth. New sheets.
Glass is fiction. Glass is distance. Glass is cunning.