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William Fuller

William Fuller's recent books include Hallucination (Flood Editions, 2011), Three Replies (Barque Press, 2008), Watchword (Flood Editions, 2006), and Sadly (Flood Editions, 2003). He has worked in the Trust Department of Chicago's Northern Trust Company for twenty-seven years; he is currently Chief Fiduciary Officer.

"William Fuller's Hallucination negotiates between worlds of the living and the dead, shifting mercurially from verse to prose and from parody to parable. Along the way, Fuller draws our attention to the ineffable qualities of experience, proposing that "Matter is a fog one looks through toward pale headlights . . ." Through these glancing observations and surreal memoranda, the mysteries appear more vivid, our follies more desperate and absurd."

Puyana

William Fuller

Many things that are foreseen cannot be addressed owing to the unforeseeable. For example, when the people came looking for us, we were nowhere to be found, which they had not foreseen. Because this happens repeatedly over long periods of time we are hard-pressed to know how to develop this observation or even if we should do so. If every act is incommensurable with every other act we can never achieve scale. While each of us grasps the point, nobody bothers to study it. Truly it is the only thing worth considering—the one thing—from accumulation to preparation to 'gone, gone, gone beyond'—that repays emphasis on its orthography, so to speak, its ever-fleeting form that one knows has to be present, behind events, causing us to think of them as events to begin with, wringing that term out of somewhere (I hear myself saying)—some pragmatic haze where work gets done to no purpose other than that its doing had been foreseen.

White Sky

These nails are worthless (except for drawing blood). My least favorite monk came down to expound doctrine. We sat there for some time looking at one another and I was in particular studying a certain motor phenomenon that held my attention despite the heavyweight micro-effects lightly convulsing along my skin. Back inside everyone walked around oblivious as usual but I noticed their folders were full of tiny eyes looking out, searching for and then locking in on a rationalist legacy or style of being that confused me, so I came here to your shade. Afterwards we fell asleep in an abandoned village and were incapable of waking because my brain had honored a statement of purpose inconsistent with full consciousness. So these lines were written in the dark, as we sojourned here and there, the vegetation slowly withering, and the city of the gods receding ever further in front of us, until we lost all interest in pursuing it.

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