Perforated Lines (you can't resist 'em!)

(ant in time)
-- Wednesday, January 5, 2000 --



11:26 p.m. I've been watching this ant for the last hour or so, while I've been trying to think of something to write. The ant has been wandering all over my desktop, back and forth, back and forth ... over magazine and disk, hill and dale, boulder and plain.

I can't get into the words. I envy the ant. I feel sorry for the ant. I am humbled by the ant, whose sole purpose I do not understand.

Nor, sometimes, do I understand why I feel compelled to write here in this space. Is it the wrong, the entirely wrong thing to be doing with my time? Who can answer these questions for the little ants of the written word?

I won't make this piece too long and make you suffer any more than you already have. Flat surfaces sometimes are meant to skim.

Maybe I'm meant to suffer dry spells, bad stretches, obscure maladies, disastrous decisions ... in silence. Maybe silence is breaking my spirit. Maybe I was born to expound. Maybe I matter; maybe it doesn't matter.

Good days, bad days ... we are lucky either way. We've all got jobs to do, and prices to pay. According to the paper. The paper speaks. There is a rain forest of microbes in your mouth. Sometimes it's best to keep it shut.

Sometimes I just want to complain. I'd like a new computer. I'd like someone wise to walk in front of me with a lantern and a map. I'd like some direction, some assurances. I'd like to know why the road is always so twisted.

I can't get inside. No one word is a secret trap door that gives gently when I push it. No word opens to the next level ... to that magic place where all the levers and the gears are arrayed behind the scenes and I can manipulate meanings and turn things askew and shade and rearrange the underlayment of these very thoughts.

Not tonight. I can't get in.


Hey! I know what! I'll have a TastyKake. Worked when I was a kid.

I can share it with the ant. He can drag a piece home -- be a hero. A legend in his own time. Words will have to be composed to honor him.

Everyone needs a reason to live. This is mine.

(ant in space)
Can you see the ant?


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