cut this picture into you and me.
-thanks dave-
-thanks hannah (making eggs in the kitchen)-
'and if i go tomorrow, this is how i want to be remembered.' she chugged down orange soda in tropical bikini bottoms, 'i am satisfied,' she added - such moderation was such an extreme thought, either the worst or the best. she touched her bug bites, horrid looking, they were purple blotches with black strands sprouting along their surface. 'of course we can laugh, i'm out of deodorant and underwear!'
i know so well yet so vaguely what it is that i'm doing, in sweeping generalizations and minute details, lately the concreteness of the middle ground has been astounding, more astounding than either extreme. maybe this is the only place to stand, stretched on the rack between the sky and the ground, the only perspective i can assume, and it's alright, all right even.