I remember a day with the wind in my hair and my hand touching the air as I drove with friends,
I was 16 I believe, I remember moments that cant be communicated like this often, but what is “cant be communicated”? I often wonder if were certain were doing this communication thing correctly now.
Case in point,
returned from dropping my son off at the child depository ( as ive come to think of the square architectural fractures on the landscape) ,
on the way home a desultory electronic voice , with very little vim,viv, or verve told me that all the counties surrounding me were in for hellish flooding,
adding to the terror his voice held no emotion, the opposite, a seeming joy in the iteration of these weird facts translated through his unconscious electronic voice and fed to me as fact, I almost drove from the road, honked at a dickbag in front of me ,
realized i had no horn, thought about Kierkegaard.
Even now the sky is green with the odd man in the radios electric promise, a flood approaching, my hands swollen from arthritic decay, the sedentary affliction of our times, death by a thousand cuts, for each of us, for some of us its just more obvious,
saying things as they are rather than as they aren’t ,isn’t being unhappy, its accepting ones fate,
Paul knew this, for him this suffering was a joy, he really really looked forward to a more.
lack of knowledge for him was not fear.