The longer I lie here, listening to my still functioning electronic innards, the more afraid I grow of detonating after all this time. I don’t share your gods, but I pray I shall die a silent death.
podcast [2:00m]:
Download
Everybody’s got a voice and even if you kill them you can’t take that voice away. Even the rain flowing down the gutter and on the street and from there into the Yangtze and into the sea, knows that. Our voice goes with the rain to the ocean and touches everyone else.
Children aren’t so good when they’re bad: when they torture their little brother for example or when they grate on my last nerve, the one I really needed to make it through this day with the slush on the road and everyone driving as if they’d contracted mad cow disease.
Done most of the Christmas shopping. A small portion of pudding by the window amidst puddles of love juice. A small portion of pudding by the window amidst puddles of love juice.
