May 21, 2012
The human race! A story
about an animal, soft
All the things we can't stop thinking about, the basics
of being alive: sex and death and love and babies...
not necessarily in any kind of order, or
according to any kind of reason. You
can't even say
sex before babies; not
if you believe
in Jesus. This
unpredictable. Some things
are true. Too many things are not.
Best of luck to all of us, telling the difference.
I have learned: Life is stories, but life is not like a book. It is loose-leaf, a rough draft, a sketch. Coverless.
Life is crumpled pages covered with broken sentences and half-thoughts scribbled in the dark, in the moments between waking and sleeping. It is out of order. It is random, and fleeting. It is flashbacks and memories and now, now, now, now, now. It is tearstained, and faded, and sharp as a papercut. It is uncategorizable.
A plethora of characters march in and right back out again, suddenly, without our knowing why. Maybe it will be relevant later or maybe it won't; maybe it's a whole other story, totally different but equally as important, and they touched here, overlapped for just a second. The hard truth of it is that we'll never see the end of the one if we want to see the other. Choices. We make our choices all the time, and nothing is ever the same again.