Incognito in Cognito

Planetary mountain ranges and impossibly tall skies. Hippie coffeehouses on 4-lane urban surface streets. The ridge in the skin at the edges of a large tattoo. The wooly feel of a fresh haircut, the wooly chest hair sliding against my back. A calloused hand on the neck. Importunity knocks and body parts answer. Secrets are more fun when conspiratorial. Timbre and envelope, aspects of a mirthful laugh. Sleep comes down but you catch each other's fall.

Empiricists balk; rationalists scream "moot!" Tom Robbins ambles on his with jangly-juxta's. But Ms. Rand would make an intellectual exercise out of a simple natural continuity.

Pity.

There is genius, sometimes, in permitting things to go unexamined, but never in allowing things to go unawares.

The Life I was handed was magical by virtue of the mere existence of it. The Life I am making is magical because it can be made. Ol' Immanuel knows what I'm talkin' about.