Monday, August 16, 2010
Do you remember, at the start, how small everything was? Smaller than a point. Like everything was somewhere between a thought, almost, and a reality, almost. And then I looked at you and thought
And then everything that would ever happen, happened.
Written by Me at 9:47 AM
Friday, August 13, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
I do not have to look at the clock to know that it's midnight. I can feel the day rushing across the world, as fast as time.
But somewhere, there is a beach that time cannot reach. Where everyone and everything has always been and never was. And perhaps, you are there waiting for me.
In that place, time cannot touch.
Written by Me at 3:57 PM
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Joan of Arc came back as a little girl in Japan, and her father told her to stop listening to her imaginary friends.
Elvis was born again in a small village in Sudan, he died hungry, age 9, never knowing what a guitar was.
Michelangelo was drafted into the military at age 18 in Korea, he painted his face black with shoe polish and learned to kill.
Jackson Pollock got told to stop making a mess, somewhere in Russia.
Hemingway, to this day, writes DVD instruction manuals somewhere in China. He's an old man on a factory line. You wouldn't recognise him.
Gandhi was born to a wealthy stockbroker in New York. He never forgave the world after his father threw himself from his office window, on the 21st floor.
And everyone, somewhere, is someone, if we only give them a chance.
Written by Me at 1:33 AM