Ever played those games where two or more humans create writing together? Like where one starts a thread
and the other continues . . . ?

Well, my dear friend Claire and I gave birth to this -
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"Red, what a weight that color must have on its shoulders! I mean, symbolizing everything from blood to love
to communism to high alert . . . the color red has a busy life! But one place we'd never expect to associate with
the color red is comfort, the kind of comfort that emerged from chaos and catastrophe, yet somehow lead to
wisdom and compassion for all things that suffered and will suffer. Red, the ever glowing light or fire that
reminds one to relax and breathe because the hard part is over. Even the creator stopped to pee, to release
what has been built up which needs to go . . . things get too heavy when carried around for so long . . . energy
yearns to explode or else implode . . . things get too heavy when carried for so long, when carried alone.
Even the camel has two humps to balance the load, rather than tipping over with the weight of two on the
weight of the waiting one . . . "
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. . . The weight of the waiting one . . . and we all are waiting for something, aren't we . . . for someone, for
some feeling, for some extra layer of relief or joy or comfort . . . from morning coffee to our ache to be
profoundly loved and understood and accepted and pleasured at the same time . . .
the weight of the waiting one . . . a world of waiting ones . . . a time at a tipping point . . .

A tipping point is my life right now . . . time of transition so painful yet promising its as thick as
grey goo . . .