Someone is always right or wrong. Isaac Newton slept on the floor. I wish the wood cutter would wake up. I want you to carry Livingston’s mummified body straight across Africa. Don’t give me that look. Open the portmanteau.

There are tiny stitches in my eyes. I’ve Frankenstein’s eyeballs. Occasionally I see, up close, the leaden birds of tragedy. Peck peck. They eat the very air.

One of the birds told me, that in a tragic view of the world, everything is hearsay.

Reading Plutarch’s essay: “How to Profit by One’s Enemies”. Better than the daily news.

You don’t get me. I don’t get you. But I won’t lie to you.

All of us must practice reality.