December 10, 2020
You think you know; you turn a bit away, and then you don't, a tiny bit of knowledge, a grain, a speck in the wind, and you ride that wind for all its worth. You should ride it. Blowing past you, all that you don't know, a swelling, raging river of eyes glaring, gleaming in the sun, teasing, taunting you. It's all you can do to see those streaming baubles race furiously away. In their wake they leave questions. You eat those questions. They fill you up with desire to know, know all that they plant in your starving consciousness.