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The boy did not want to go to sleep. Bribes did not work. Talking nicely did not work. Being firm and logical and adult did not work. I eventually ended up running around the apartment with the boy on my back, pulling at my hair, yelling. (He was pulling and yelling. I did the running part.) I thought it would be clever to just dump the kid into his bed like this. I aimed for the bed, i let myself fall back. and I hit. The wall. With his head. There were many tears. The boy knew how to say one single word in English (really amazingly well.) The word was, appropriately: "Sophisticated." The tree was patient. It grew silently, dodging the fast movements of temporary disturbances. There were the silly animals, some furry, some dressed. There were some tiny, some larger obstacles. The tree expanded in the spring time, exploded into colors, shades of green. Then in the winter time it collected itself, played "almost dead". All in silence. The nearby fence might have looked like a limitation at first, but once the tree managed to embrace the metal bars, to swallow them into the trunk, to move them slowly off the ground... the fence became a decorating, distinguishing mark, it became the reason why generations of dressed and furry animals came to visit and be amazed. Images of the tree, or even the idea of the tree opened up to be soft connectors between those who understood the idea of slow and patient growth. Periods of almost death did not mean death. Explosions of life were the ones that mattered, though they were mere accents of the real, slow, beautiful growth. Silent, soft, mighty growth... life much longer than the one of the self involved dressed monkeys with their ever hungry digestive tracks. Some understood. Most did not. The first image she showed him was one that was not even intended for him in particular. It was actually not even strictly an image. He loved it. It was a bit like loving the sun just for the reflections it throws on the water. The images she created were a clear reflection of her inner beauty; the one that grows, in bursts sometimes, hopefully throughout and beyond life. She eventually sent him a little picture of the tree. and he loved the picture of the tree. it was so perfect. ...

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these photos remind me in some way of a post on david byrne's tour journal today:


"I read an article that claims there is a new form of matter, a sort of "super liquid". It seems when helium is cooled near absolute zero some of it becomes solid, as expected, but other atoms become a liquid that flows THROUGH the solid. This is some weird cosmic shit."

There was a beautiful sentence that said that "in quantum mechanics an atom is not a discrete object but a fuzzy blur of possibilities" To say nothing of people, who can be really fuzzy at times."

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This page contains a single entry by Witold published on October 4, 2004 1:58 PM.

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