Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Saturday

Freedom reigns eternal.

Nothing enters dystrophy without first desiring it. Not a leaf, not a pillow, not a bowling pin. Everything must be dead. At the end of his life, he too would be dead. But he would have to require it. He would have to need it, to feel it. He wasn’t sure what would have to change for that shift to arise.

He bit an unripe apple and held the brown, grainy goop in between his teeth. He swished his tongue slowly through the pulp, which warmed up as he held it in his mouth. Then he swallowed.

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