Do you know how I feel? I don’t. I know I’m a lunatic but there’s nothing better. This entire thing is ridiculous but so is everything else. At least some things get to be ridiculous without being stupid.
A bird could shit a solid shit from 20 000 feet and kill me instantaneously and you could crack your neck and accidentally kill yourself. We may get run over tomorrow or run somebody over and all go to prison for it. Separate cells too. What do you worry about that doesn’t lead to worrying about the worrying? Do you worry about me? Don’t worry, I was born a clown, alone and prone to flinging myself about for very little reason. Are you worried that there’s a reason now? Me too. Though isn’t it so much better to have a reason to reason? A purpose to purport and all that? I hope it’s heartbreaking in the way that only the good bits of life are. Everything else, like you said, is disappointing and just an inconvenience to our personhood. Well this is already a very big inconvenience, it can only be heartbreaking from here. I authorise it and we may together stand on either side of the vault with our own key. Can’t do it on my own really. I can only stand and wait, though you’re already there. Who’s been waiting? There’s plenty energy and resources and resourcefulness to perpetuate it into something beautiful. Let’s not expect anything but I still expect you. Let’s not feel this certain pressure but it’s wrapped around my heart anyhow. How does any of this impede fun or the banality of our stupidity? It’s all funny still. And still it’s the adventure of a lifetime for this little life that may be lived, more or less, here or then – an ongoing investigation into what’s next.
By then I’ll be able to grow a proper beard and you a moustache. I could love it or hate it- yet a moustache is just a moustache and there’s nothing you can do about it. I ve heard if you bleach it it glistens in that atrocious way Norwegians glisten by the seaside. Somebody loves them still- I don’t. Swedes too and the Dutch and all the various incestuous peoples you can only tell apart by the teeth.
Though my dear, if you are Scandinavian you must tell me so that I can make a run for it now.
And to answer your question I would know by now if you were : I don’t need to see you at work or the way you wipe your ass or use a map; I’d wager I don’t even need to know how often you pick your nose if you do pick your nose (I only hope you do it well and not sloppily).
I hope such and such things and the logistics of it seem astronomical but they become the kind of ridiculous that is much stupider than the previous and there’s a rabbit hole for this that may be a close relative to brain rot. What if you were allergic to my favorite color and I to your favorite fabric? What if you ate like an animal and I like a smaller animal? What if the sky falls on our heads but doesn’t kill us instantly? Would we have to die next to each other?! I’d much rather die alone (would I). All these things I know and equally don’t know. The logistics of travel are one thing, the willingness to comply is another, and yet another is how much you don’t care about love between friends when you travel, it’s different from love between lovers, and then too, parents who are stuck with you and you with them, siblings, distant cousins, or pets you can always abandon by the side of the road. We have no idea what any of these things mean to us but we know what does mean and means powerfully – incontinentally, diarrheatically.
Has it been too long? Maybe so. Maybe not long enough.
There s still sweet nothings and boring mundane everythings and whatever’s inbetween can’t be nuclear Armageddon. A turtle can’t give birth to a cockroach as much as you may fear it and if it does we’ll kill the cockroach and cook the turtle whole – make a meal of it.
