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Description
I don't think I want to be human. I think I would rather be a book, and also the writer of that book, and words wouldn't stand between myself and others because I am words, and I am others and I am my own God. I might be a forest fire, because I think we need one, and they are impartial to loss and individual travesties. They are unbiased renewal. But I am a tree, and I suppose that's just as well, because I would rather be a book. If human nature is human nurture, then I might just practice; I might just stare at the white of a computer screen until I know. I think I might be a photograph. I could stand being a photo of something private, to live in like a house because as was is better than as is, because as is is fleeting, and as was is stagnant. It is hard to live in a river. Pretty stones are smoothed down to nothing, and a photo wears out with the moment and the person living in it gets washed away. I'd like to dream and dream until I can't tell where the carpenter's hand slipped, because once you see it you see it, and some dreams stick and some dreams don't. I would like to be History. I would like to be History. I would like to be History. I would like to be History, or a lack thereof. Not an ocean but a mosquito pond. Bread to oil and vinegar; I would like to be a chicken with stones in its gizzard. I would like to be something perfect.

Description
I don't think I want to be human. I think I would rather be a book, and also the writer of that book, and words wouldn't stand between myself and others because I am words, and I am others and I am my own God. I might be a forest fire, because I think we need one, and they are impartial to loss and individual travesties. They are unbiased renewal. But I am a tree, and I suppose that's just as well, because I would rather be a book. If human nature is human nurture, then I might just practice; I might just stare at the white of a computer screen until I know. I think I might be a photograph. I could stand being a photo of something private, to live in like a house because as was is better than as is, because as is is fleeting, and as was is stagnant. It is hard to live in a river. Pretty stones are smoothed down to nothing, and a photo wears out with the moment and the person living in it gets washed away. I'd like to dream and dream until I can't tell where the carpenter's hand slipped, because once you see it you see it, and some dreams stick and some dreams don't. I would like to be History. I would like to be History. I would like to be History. I would like to be History, or a lack thereof. Not an ocean but a mosquito pond. Bread to oil and vinegar; I would like to be a chicken with stones in its gizzard. I would like to be something perfect.