Rooted, I used to think.

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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Day Fifteen - Saturday, Feb. 09, 2019
Day Fourteen - Saturday, Feb. 09, 2019
Day Thirteen - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019
Atonement - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019

Sunday, Apr. 17, 2005 @ 4:50 pm
Concrete Circles


For a time I felt that my fatal flaw was a lack of opinion. In conversations others would stand there either Left or Right, Black or White, and they would turn to me and I would stammer I don't know... Now I see it differently. I am aware of my ignorance to virtually every topic that requires an opinion. Who does know enough of both sides, unbiased, to make a real judgement about a situation? Is it boring to live in a grey world? Without the arguments there is room for enlightenment...

Neon green jacket man, outside 303 Columbia. A loonie. Go on towards Prime Time Chicken and Chips, go on towards the alleyways - do what you will with that loonie, because you made me feel lucky.

We stood in a concrete circle in the Watershed. He walks around the outside and explains the meaning. He places tobacco in my fingers, and I let it fall within the circle. Energy between our hands.

When we're falling asleep at night I visualize us inside a bubble. The skin of the bubble is a semi-permeable membrane - plusses flow through into us and the minuses are deflected away. I do this nearly every night; I do it when I hug you. Tim-a-thy I'm delerious in your obvious unstrained love.

At work I sit at the microscope and push saline through a murine oviduct. Poke, twirl, tug on the navy blue suture material. Blood seeps from the edges of the abdominal cavity. I pause life to create new life.

Back at 303 Columbia. We're loading gear. He holds onto my hand and pulls off the ring he put on my thumb two months ago. He puts it on my ring finger. The ring falls off unless I keep my hand clenched in a fist. I slide it back to my thumb and shake my head at him. What would you do, if I were seriously asking you this? What would you say? he prods.

In the bathroom, blood drips from his nose as he reaches over me for toilet paper.

Roots | Shoots