So while we’re busy resisting, living, and trying to find a way to make our lives better. Remember that you’re always just about as happy as you choose to be, and pretend you’re winning. It’s more fun.
I want to make you a promise now. A promise that I’ll go through and reread all your old stories, that I’ll put them together and retell them, that I’ll assemble those stories into a grand new narrative. But, realistically, I’m probably not going to. I don’t have that follow through, and I think you’d know that, and would be ok with it.
I woke from a fever dream, screamed and woke again.
She was fickle and distant and cursed beautiful madness.
That night we spoke of parenthood. And watching children grow older. Going to their graduation. We lived out a thousand possible lives with our possible sons and daughters. We talked of supporting our children. Playing catch with them. Playing tricks on them. All sorts of things I hope I never forget.
Another thing I wrote and liked. I’m always worried people will take the phrase “We make idle chat:
hoping for a white apocalypse” the wrong way…
Wanted: Someone who can comfort the cold shivering terror I feel at the thought of a world where there is no afterlife and every moment that passes is one second closer to death that we’ll never get back.
Like a cow in line at the butcher’s suddenly realizing the futility of its course. Far beyond the point of being able to alter its destiny.
I don’t remember the last time we smashed the universe into its component pieces and realigned the stars in a myopic collection of feelings and bright lights, the future blasted so far beyond that only brief spots on my retinas remind me that it was ever there at all.
I found some writing from my train trip from Los Angeles to Houston. Some of it is decidedly mediocre but one of the things I really liked. I still remember very vividly the scene I described. I think this is as close as I’ll ever feel to hurtling through space. I sit and by…