(August Sander)
Long, tough day, after a good evening spent eating rotisserie chicken at my buddy's place. We chatted around his dining room table - watched the unfolding of the Atwood misspellings - swore our devotion to our ideas of love.
The table was round.
The table was round.
You're not allowed to take pictures of children precariously placed atop the nut-crushing balancing bar of a bicycle any more, but wouldn't the world be a better place if we all admitted that we just wanted to, every now and then?
An old friendly acquaintance from NY, a vibrant life lived, fell to earth with cancer. A woman of much laughter.
I was too busy to respond. I'll deal with it first thing in the morning.
It bothered me - I could say anything but do nothing.
If you want to feel hopeless, let it die.
Don't respond, it's what the old do, then the dying.
Just stare until everything stops moving.
I was too busy to respond. I'll deal with it first thing in the morning.
It bothered me - I could say anything but do nothing.
If you want to feel hopeless, let it die.
Don't respond, it's what the old do, then the dying.
Just stare until everything stops moving.
It'll be sleep.
.
