Friday, March 28, 2014


No one knows your name. You aren't sure of what to call yourself, either. If a question mark had legs and moped around the living room alone, it would be you. So maybe your name is Question? It's not. That's ridiculous. Only a drunk would name a newborn Question, but maybe the epidural clouded your judgment. When all is said and done, your name is most likely Cloud. We all come from clouds, so we might as well answer to our place of origin. We might as well call to each other to come home, come home, your dinner's getting cold.

You don't own what you don't know, so how can you stop these sentences? You stop them with either a phase or a phrase. You stop them with your false name. You stop them when you are ready to start. If modern studies reveal several mysteries, then you must be ancient. You must be a hot and bright star in the center of a nebula. You must lose first in order to be observed.

I'm wrestling with the pseudonyms. I'm waiting for the alias. I'm watching a cloud float by, creating meaning out of what is suspended. I will be observed, I will not be classified, I will rise.

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