something strikes me about a barn that i pass everyday in the driving that i do now. i go around the bend, i see it, something strikes about its white peeling agedness, and i always think of a poem right then, and then [now] i can never remember it.
this is why i want to make a movie about everything i see in iowa as i drive along, especially those old pregnant and forgotten whale-barns.
a barn is the whale of the midwest in its landlock.
a whale is the barn in its seabind.
because of you reading this, i figured out how to write it.
[the imprint of a laugh in the book of birth]
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