BLAZE

Friday evening. What you don't know about your close friends may astound you. Such a depth of courage: a well of belief without resort to received faith — these are people I admire so much.

I believe love is a fickle thing. So you love me now. Do you still now? What about now? And who is that me anyway? As Bruce wittily pointed out the other night, that me is an impossible construct: You are my direct object. (Copular pattern two: subject — linking verb — predicate noun.) And what about now?

Why did my guinea pigs always die? Why don't my PROW 116 students know what maleficence means? Why isn't war over even though I want it? Where do the rivers meet the sounding sea? Will you accomp'ny me?

Today I like: Black.

Today I dislike: Hope.

Am I procrastinating?

someone like L

PS: Hi Kate!