the day and a word

i was telling her that the formality of conversation is becoming a strain lately
i was telling her about a time lost (paper and ink, stamp and mailbox era) when
letters were written in free flow, free form
without concern for subject matter and convenient communications device
i was telling her that she probably didn't "get" what i had written, prior to this one
or, maybe she did

i was telling her that it was such a gladness for her to be alive and to be alive with her as well

(in other words, letters had lost their "magic" ... for a while)

came, went

he came
he found the clutter of text - bio, notes, comments on some such
useless

how unjust it is to life, and it's body to parade around in all the gimmickry
of "what i am" and "am interested in becoming"

besides,
he was always "too" weird
a farthing too close to actually functioning
and yet childishly pan-like, a chortling coyote-trickster

perhaps he was just too tired
too far into the dead end of the dead zone
exposed to one more rich jerk too many
(a past life pocked with holes where there were once attempts to make sense of
money, success, fame, rationalization of pain and envy)

he went ...


he went

i still wish i were a gecko!