Zeil in Frankfurt am Main; 2008-07-01
We sailed on blissfully all that next flaming morning over salt-pans as bright as mirrors, through a sandstorm blowing about like golden chaff in the wind. Driver steered by the compass, shoulders down at the wheel. The Old Girl next to me called out deliriously: “Driver! Driver! Even though there's no road, you can't run away from me . . . !” No one else opened his mouth.
Brion Gysin : The Process