The Judge orates philosophical truths from the back seat. His latest: Life is like a race downhill towards a deadend. Then he ranked his grandparents for which he thought was out in front. He thought he was clever and lucky besides to be the youngest. But his brother pointed out that the dog was the first to go, and she was younger than he was. The Judge thought about it a second. “You’re Right”, he said soberly.

sometimes it's just too hard to go back i think...
sometimes there's nothing to go back to...
sometimes there was never anything there but attempt
turned inward contemptuous words breed contemptuous thoughts
maybe this is all there ever is

- words and image from faintedink

(come back, we’ll drink more wine)

It’s good to know some writers and some books. The need for expression and the capacity for it are two different things. The need for ______ and the capacity for it are two different things. Capacity for it and its existence are two different things. I had once and again the capacity for what did not exist. So I made it. I had once and again and again (and again?) the capacity to lend that capacity to others. I can make-pull a man towards me into being. I have need of this. But I should be careful, and now I try to be, stepping around the shards of glass barefoot, trying not to get cut but refusing to put my shoes on also because in safety you can lose your feel for it altogether. No stomp stomp stomp just to go downhill faster, as people seem hell bent to do, stepping on or over whomever they will like roadkill.

It is a beautiful day. We go for a walk. He seems happy. He says hello to almost everyone. He looks at me, asks me a question with this eyes: “Is it just me, or has that storm made a buffet of hard hats and rescue workers out of the city?” He takes a sniff. I always look at my feet when I walk, and have to remind myself to look up, which doesn’t cost anything if I don’t want it to, since I’m too short to make eye contact without further effort on my part. Usually, anyway. Our solitude together is interrupted when one says hello back, three times, and seems to be talking to me. Looking dead ahead, I am eye level with his diaphram, the hernia of which killed my brother. I hear someone else singing in my head, stare politely right on through. To one I would say “okay”, to someone else I would say “I always say okay.” This seems a crucial difference to me. But it probably isn't. Say La Vee.

Meanwhile, I study feng shui.

trentemoller - take me into your skin