5.2.01 - 10:51

when you have too much to say, often the problem is deciding how much to say, and the secondary problem is usually saying too much because you wouldn't want to make the grievous error of saying too little.

you say what you mean or you mean what you say or you try to, anyway, and sometimes the trying just isn't enough. we're all part of something bigger. even you. even if it's meaningless. there's no way to know. there's no way to know anything, really. so eat, drink, and be merry. someone should, anyway.

the happiest times are the sleepy times, where the borders of reality get a little fuzzy, before you give up control to the sad that is subconscious. there are moments, falling in and out of things, a feeling of vertigo, kundera's vertigo, this is not a fear of falling, this is a fear of wanting to fall.

in lieu of the ocean he would run the tub and lay flat, ears submerged. eyes closed, the rumble through the pipes was something, no, it was never the ocean or the sea or any sort of real thing, but it was, at least, unlike most other things. you're making a comparison, and when you draw that comparison, you are calling into question the nature of those things and now aren't they real? he stuck his head back underneath the surface, floating up with the rising water, his nose dry. before the tub fills and overflows, however, he has to turn off the water and coming out of the water, the rush of the air (which is really not a rush at all) is both cold and harsh. not loud, or fast. unpleasant. slow and quiet can be unpleasant. you aren't thinking hard enough. but underneath the water, things are lonely and empty without the gurgle of the pipes. silent. still. it is difficult to know how long this silence will last. suddenly his arms are too short for his body and the water has turned cold.

would my baby be a pirate, she wanted to know. she had a soft spot for pirates. pirates, he explained, aren't any different from anyone else, genetically speaking. so there isn't a pirate gene, she mused. not even if i married a pirate, she asked? not even then. hmm. i can give you an eye patch, he said. wonderful...but the hook? the parrot? the peg-leg? she started to panic. we aren't born into ourselves, he told her, we can all grow into pirates. an interesting point he raised there. i could be a pirate, she thought. i don't need a baby, a pirate baby. was he a doctor? why was this conversation taking place? she left to become a pirate.

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