novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- when reality sways when i was little i tried willing myself to know when people were thinking of me. your ears are burning because someone is talking about you. you sneezed three times: that means somebody loves you. i took the childish things adults so solemnly informed me of as literal truth. so many daisies were beheaded petal by petal. i often felt my ears. did you wish for intuition when you were small? i wanted access behind closed expressions. i wanted to upend the mystical, or at least understand its base science. i thought it was science, based on fact. it must be so, that adult looked serious. if an eyelash unhinges itself from a fluttering lid and you are lucky enough to catch it on a fingertip, and blow: what happens afterwards is fact. you get to make a wish. but don't tell anyone what you've wished for because it will never come true. i misjudged and thought the wish would deliver a solid outcome -- a visually significant change, from red to green, liquid to vapor. i thought that the part about coming true was science. a natural bridge. not that the wish will deliver, but the act of the wish is what is real. you consciously ask just as you undeniably inhale and exhale. just as your heart is made to pump blood and your lungs are constructed to filter air. when do we stop making wishes? some of us don't call them that anymore, unless we are speaking to children. 7:31 pm - 06.11.04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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