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.
