The Now Is Fragile by Thomas Wiloch

There is no childhood, except in our memories, and
there is no super man, except in our dreams.
All is memory and imagination. We remember a past
now gone; we imagine a future we will never see.
The now is fragile.
We sit before a sheet of blank paper. We lift a pencil.
We charge this white pulp with meaning.


Date: 1989

By: Thomas Wiloch (1953-2008)


One Comment to “The Now Is Fragile by Thomas Wiloch”

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