My friends ... yeah everything happens for a reason, and that reason seems to be to deprive us of sleep. It is a good question to ask whether the well-rested are ever dramatic, o.k. maybe it’s not. Lots of questions I’m interested in other people don’t seem to be. I was able to actually ask a religious person recently something I’ve always wanted to ask. I guess it helped that our pillows were touching, tho I believe pillow talk is generally not considered a theology seminar. So then you’re not interested in whether what you’re saying is true or not, I asked; that is not important to you. Yes, absolutely, that’s right, came the answer.

O.k. that’s settled. Of course, nothing ever is.

I know the word “plateau” doesn’t seem to be fraught (always thot this was a funny word) with the ability to entice, but recently for me it has become a consummation devoutly to be wished. I desire, the way a geek desires a new programmable toggle rocker switch, to reach an area of high ground with a fairly level surface (Encarta). Instead the dips and valleys and pole-vaulting bounces up of outrageous fortune, are well, outrageous. Maybe I should take up arms against this sea of troubles and by opposing end them. Nah.

I’ve always loved the diorama in the Museum of Natural History in NYC that I believe exists but that I might have made up of the prehistoric man and woman alone on the plains, I mean there is nothing else in the picture, and the picture is pretty wide, holding hands and bravely walking forward. It’s not much different than a couple in an SUV, sans uh SUV. (No carbon footprint!, jus’ um footprint footprints). Were they just in an argument, about to get in one, it’s hard to tell, but there’s somthinc ‘tween ‘em and it’s not lice. (That’s not nice, whatev.)

One question I’m interested in is whether love is a destination or a person. In other words, a place, you’re going to visit and you pick this person to go with you, or whether the person is love. I think I know what the truth is, and tho beauty is truth, truth beauty, it’s not all yee need to know (as I’m pretty sure Keats agreed). The end of Charlie Chaplin’s Modern Times has a shot very much like the diorama above, with the Tramp and the Gamin walkin’ hand in hand alone down a road. Just before they start he had pantomimed a frown to a smile, to try to cheer her up.