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2003-11-24 - 5:09 p.m.
Patterns are funny things. Leaves, moss, bark and flesh all grow in rhythmic, consistent layers.
It's a wonder that we can't predict everything.
But we can't. At least I sure can't.
I'm constantly surprised by the utter transparency and simplicity of my actions.
If you were smart, if you paid attention, you would know exactly what I am doing, what I am going to do.
right. now.
But you don't.
Is that sad? Or horribly freeing?
I feel foolish for not knowing the answer before you ask the question. I'm a fool for not predicting each fall, each need, each lesson that I, you, we, all need to learn.
When will I stop being such a moron?
Oh, wait. Silly me. I'm human. I GET to make mistakes and I GET to get broken and shit on and loved and cherished all in one big horrifying mess.
That's what keeps me here. Loving you.
And you and you. And you too.
We are in this horrifying mess together. And maybe its not really so horrifying. Maybe its really beautiful. So beautiful, maybe, that we are scared to open our eyes.