A box turned to an ox. There are theories (and practices) which state this is a good thing. There's a proud sense of discovery when night is made might or simple dimple or visa versa. Let the clicking go on. Simple truth jiggles; every morning upon waking we are someone else. It's always catch up, to ourselves, to whom others are, to the mistaken words - as if we and they and these speak for us and themselves. We drift without image. When it floats by it sinks us. There goes a.... Encouraged, cats become bats, mulling or nulling something over, sever ever severe somehow bad turns into a rat. Am I closer or father from this, from what I wanted to tell you, or is thi s it?
� 2004 by john e
