“We never really touch anything. At our most seemingly intimate we are actually repelled, minutely yet roundly, by negatively charged electrical fields. Every act of contact is in fact one of minute levitation; we dangle ignorantly a single angstrom (a hundred millionth of a centimeter) above actual congress. We are in reality contained, consigned to our own electrical limits like infants still in the belly sack, fenced and isolated. And yet we believe otherwise. We speak of falling when in reality we have only brushed, of caressing when we have barely grazed. Contact is consensus, a silent, undisclosed agreement we have with one another. A rule we play by. A story we have all heard. And this is all under the daylight of the physical world. How much more permeable, more illusory must be the twilight of our feelings.”
from I Can Only Give You Everything, by Bradford Tatum
You can read the first chapter of this newly self-published book on its website and the whole wonderful, frightful, cleansing, moan-inducing, putting-shine-back-into-breathing book, which orders you to loosen your grip in order to more deeply take root, is available at Portrait, currently the only brick-and-mortar establishment which can boast of this.
It’s good. It’s really, really good.