Tuesday, October 14, 2008

But what can I say in ten minutes or less that won't appear to incriminate the absolute poverty of absolute hindsight.  In training, the lads were well appareled, so many digs happening, the science of life, the rood on the deck of the frigate.  Luck had nothing to do with it, the stop sign said so, said we were all doomed to praise the fairy tales we'd learned, but someone else stepped in.  Crashing waves became the norm and then disappeared over the—

—no no, it was like that already, I did it like that on purpose, it was my intention, not my inflection, nor my reflection.  Could have been my detection but probably not that either.  But okay, say that's so.  Does it prevent you from coming up with a workable solution?  It can't be that easy, can it?  To work and work and find nothing at the bottom of the pit, nothing to scream about on the way to the theater where they're showing the last movie ever made in the state of Nebraska?  Yeah, I believe that.  Right, just like the time you escaped into the Montana wilderness or the time you wandered off into the New Mexico desert, oh that was a time we had.  Oh me oh my.  People keep coming to tell me how much they miss you, how much they look forward to your return, and when will that be? they ask.  I tell them not to wait up, I tell them it's okay to bleed into the sand for days on end, there's enough sand to absorb any amount of blood and besides it wasn't until the christening at the Robertson's that we finally decided to amount to something.  I mean, puhleaze!  Mormon salt shakers get a better deal than that!  Are you fucking mental?  I know, it can be hard to discern between eggs and butter, especially when science has it that no man will live past the age of forty who undergoes regular, um, haircuts.

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