Going Wild

It is a dirty lie that there were no promises at this event in any shape or form because there was food.

There was also a discussion concerning the intel­lect of children. There was a child sucking a green lollipop and being admired by an adult for being ador­able while he was sucking, lying down.

Based on my intuition, my dead father would not have had fun at this event.

I had some fun while I stuffed myself to the gills with the food until I was uncomfortable and then I was no longer having fun.

I petted the head of a two-and-a-half-year-old boy. I succeeded with him by petting him while he was doing something—anything—and then I was redirecting him gently to­ward something less appropriate for his age.

We all stopped what we were doing, even I had stopped my chewing, and we had orchestrated our­selves to stare as a group at one child who acted as if he knew he should be center stage. I could have asked myself, What does this child wish for more than any­thing in the whole world?

Maybe there is one correct answer!

The one person who was giving me the most atten­tion at the event is gone! evaporated right out of my sight! He’s off into the pure air of my imagination where I imagine him with me lying down in a bed, where we discuss by what method everything is or­dered.

Has there been one grand enough moment of either sex, or serenity, of soothsaying, or of silliness at the tragedy, during which time we paid homage to one object, or to a notion, or to one of us?

Thanks for letting, letting me even address you.

Satisfied is what I am.