For *those that have just lost their keys *those that are well-versed *inebriated ones *wanderers *mermaids *those that belong elsewhere *whippersnappers *marvelous ones *those that are not included in this classification *those that flutter because the moment is fleeting *boundless ones *those colored with slippery fingerpaint *others *those that resemble someone I know from a distance

Sunday, August 21, 2005


I discovered some writings from my time in California and realized that I have been asking the same questions over and over and over again, for years now. The fact that the same questions keep appearing in my life is not as troubling as the fact that they keep disappearing - that I forget how certain questions and ideas consumed me for a while. Then a few years later I start to itch, and question, and become wrapped up in that question again, in all of its chenilley goodness. Except I never remember that I spent a year bundled up in that particular blanket before. I forget how much it meant to me previously.

Maybe it has something to do with my episodic obsessiveness. Or that everything is temporary. Being sad that I am no longer sad, writing as a tool against forgetting, that sort-of thing. Those are two ideas that I have spent some time with, that I have come back to. But that is just it - there is something that is not fleeting about questions/ideas, something that is not temporary, since the questions come back. There is something somehow cyclical about the process, some sort of cyclical fleetingness. Some kind of movement. That seems to be closer to the heart of the matter. Perhaps it is just the nature of questions. As sweet, pseudo-stalkee Seth said, "Questions are alive; answers are dead."

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