Category: Fiction

there was dia­logue at one point. some­thing to do with the Future…or per­haps Con­tri­bu­tions to Soci­ety. what­ev­er it was, it was heavy. at least I think so. she would relate to me her inse­cu­ri­ties about how to Con­tribute while still being able to do what she want­ed to make her hap­py, or ful­filled or some­thing. I know i prob­a­bly men­tioned self-actu­al­iza­tion. Its my copout for being self­ish. all in the name of becom­ing a com­plete per­son. or mebbe about Becom­ing One With the Uni­verse, by being com­plete­ly atten­u­at­ed from it. there are plen­ty of inter­est­ing bugs and flow­ers and sounds and smells out in left field with all the foul balls. i guess that is how it works. i don’t think she got the answer she want­ed. i don’t need that answer though, i don’t have a ques­tion. at least i don’t think i do. some­where there is a cack­ler point­ing in my gen­er­al direc­tion and mar­veling at the way i can run around in cir­cles and nev­er get bored. of course, they prob­a­bly don’t have my per­spec­tive, they can’t see the First Thing about the dreams of a dan­de­lion.