weighed raze we hold the hearts of others in our hands, weighing them as if checking for defects by feel alone, doing the rise and fall slingshot wrist bend, except the thing doing the move-making is not the wrist, but something somewhere between wrist and elbow, in forearm country. and maybe you will bring one heart to your ear, and listen, and maybe the heart will whisper something to make you drop it to the floor with your eyes wide and your lips curled. and maybe i will teach mine how to speak in such a way that no other heart on the floor of those abandoned mid-sentence will want to hear what it has to say. but training a heart to do your bidding is much the same as preparing a witness to testify in a court of law. you have to hope they stick to the script you've written. you have to hope they're not undone by the gravity of the moment. and the heart, witness and accomplice and catalyst to so many things, is not easily made an actor. you can feel that when you weigh it in your hand. it never sits in the cradle of palm the way you'd think it would, and when it falls, the sound it makes is not a frightened one. 131021 ... epitome of incomprehensibility The brother, in the spring, for his passport. We went into Jean Coutu and I convinced him to take off his shoes and stand on one of the scales, though he insisted on doing so behind a shelf of vitamins so the store workers wouldn't see him and scold. "58 kg... that's 126 [actually 128] pounds." Anxious. "I used to be less than 100 pounds!" Myself: "That was when you were shorter than I am." "But am I getting fat?" Myself: something like "If YOU become anorexic, I will lose all hope in humanity." But he's not. He just hasn't weighed himself since the scale in the basement broke about six or seven years ago. 131022 what's it to you? who go blather from