Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Maybe I think and write the way I do because of the absence or abundance of certain bodily chemicals, or their weird reactive interplay across chasmic synapses blazing brightly when they are meant to cool, and frozen tightly against ordinary demands. Whatever it is, I have grown accustomed to a daily arc of triumph and defeat, a kind of rue Ballu in a frenzied nowhere with irregular outdated bus service. To be or not to be is hardly the question. Instead I ask, why me, when it could be you?
In the Forum: sometimes you’re better off left behind.