Rugged and hatless

(rambles on individualism?)

Draidle my indecision, wheedle and cause elision, I collect fragments in a jar for shards, the larder pantry and the collection of brain lint: Sweet causality, I turned myself into a special effect, a notable glimmer on a much larger and deeper surface; no more dull totalitarianism for the mind, more like one small star among billions, my little solar system with its own laws of gravitation, exceptions to the general theory. The confidence of an absolute, the fog of special relativity (I fell in love with my third cousin? ;-) ); I am a prime candidate for hemorrhoids – shit or get off the pot. (the opposite of a watertight argument, someone more interested in asking questions than proving self-righteousness.)

I was listening to Lucio all day - he was on a desperate erotic stomp. He sang a song for a song that could find a girl. Who knows where she is; send the music after her. On the radio, passed along by satellite beacons, she catches your intentions an ocean away. (I’m not romantic; I can’t trust birds, roses or rainbows to relay messages; I won't let smoke signals do my dirty work.)

Don’t ask me to sacrifice myself to you, she says, I won’t live for you. You can’t make me happy – it’s not within your power. I can help you live for your own sake though - there is no greater favour. I will let you die, if you don’t let me live… Let me live, and I will help make it possible for you to live…

So stop taxing me! And turn off your vicious medieval philosophy of death.