in a silent way the way he framed his story before even beginning to tell it was more alive than most people's stories are in their totality, in all they have to give and say. i knew i should have brought something with me to preserve those words the second he started speaking them. but there was nothing, and my mind kicked those words away, saying, "hear them once and feel them well, because where they're going, you can't follow."

memory can be cruel like that.
flowerock. There_was_a_time when all we had were ears and pen_and_paper were costly luxuries. Before that time was a time when we may not have had even words, just an understanding of feeling and thought. I wonder how that feels, if communicating in a foreign in a place with a forgein culture and language which I didn't understand would feel similarly, if we'd never met or used the internet and we're just humanimals communicating ideas and experiences.
I don't know why it might get that fat out of comprehension... I wandered a bit.
what's it to you?
who go