Breath

I have little enough of my own, lately. Taken every which way-thieves-in-the-night, don't you know. So it pains me to spare some for the Rest of You.

But I am compelled. Transfixed. Mesmerized. Eponymed.

I've been paying a lot of attention to the birds, having a lot of conversations with myself. The one's a metaphor for the other, the outside speaking to the inside by having the inside use the outside as its trope. More nonsense.  But it has been useful to me, to my conversations.

I have a lot of conversations.

I like "reify" and "narrative" and "pataphor" and "actuality" and "Uruguay*" and "philosophy of personality". I like the illusion, and the legend, and Melpomene. I like my flaws and my bigotries and my defects of character. I like my foes. I like my strangers (there's a reason they call them that) and my dying acquaintances. I love my friends, so many of them now.

I like you. Whoever you are. Well done.







*for the pampas.