Thursday, May 12, 2005

Life Begins Again Every Thirty Seconds

I spent the evening compromising my belief about people, about what is worth putting in my stomach, about being true. Scoffing rudely at the contents of the fridge, making martyrs of the counter-top ants, nosing through paperwork with numbers I shouldn't get to see, I travelled back to a time when that seemed okay. My mother's smiling face assured me that things were weirder than even I had supposed, her health improving, she said, since she moved out of this place. It isn't hard to imagine: the falseness this place inspires, the immediacy of feeding hungry males you never signed up for, the frightening assumption that THIS IS IT. What does visiting do but inspire old patterns to cobweb their way across everything formed in the time since life began again?


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