Always Meant To Do That

Out there in the world, on the world and circling the world are people who understand what I say - my speech and mannerisms are no more complex than the average member of our species. Assumptions allow me to exist with my kind.

W.E.B. DuBois and Umberto Eco could carry on more interesting discussions. Hu Jintao and Corazon Aquino could address millions about a difficult subject without blinking an eye.

Every one of us has a single moment in which a single action unifies the universe and makes sense. We only see in replayed time that all our moments do the same.

Flew a remote-controlled airplane into a tree today - spent more time retrieving the toy than directing its propellor-pulled path through the wind. While the flight dissolves in my thoughts - a slice of portabello between a halved bun - the breaded bits suspend my eyes, colloidal sesame seeds floating by, images of river bathers and carpark texters tasting like candy.

I walks along, followed by me. Me knows not I better than I and ponders the moon.

A library trails infinitely on lunar tracks, titles hooked together near authors with names wished by publishers to make moneyed wishes come true.

No more. Moliere, perchance. Shakespeare by far. Nixon the politician and Nixon the visiting professor. Which one do you choose?

I don't.

Je baisez mon chat, au lieu de cela. Is that okay? Not correct? Imprecise, perhaps?

私は知らない。

So I say.

I gave up being me a long time ago. Seriousness is not my need to be. I step out of silence to relive relief because one cannot releaf a tree.

I can see we're a bunch of primates continuing our migration out of Africa, social significance important to everyone but me. If I'm not having fun, so what? Boredom is just a matter of perspective, a time-based entity easily avoided. I don't have kids. The problem's on your shoulders and in your thoughts, not mine, but you want me to feel your burden anyway? I've done plowed my rows. My crops are planted. I'm just sitting here watching the weather and waiting for my seeds to grow. Plenty to share once the harvest is ready. Times a bit slim until then. No hurries, mon. I'm the space between words now, empty of meaning and obvious in my actions, connecting and separating. Is it soup yet? Like the fellow said, wonton is not now spelled backwards. You eat the jujube, don't you?