me and my memory: a small oaf gazing into a pond. Look, on the
brackish water-it's me!(vonnegut: "That was i. That was me") There
is also all the things i bring with me, and the sunlight, the trees,
and beneath are the little microorganisms that make the pondwater
taste good, and make it soft on the skin when i wash myself(i do
that). Sometimes it makes the bathroom hurt(enough of that, now).
The things i bring with me: vignettes with a touch of impressionism.
There are no ugly women, no evil people, no uncomfortable sweating, no
sleepless nights, and the milk is always fresh. Never am i next to
falling to pieces from the innertension. Me and my memory: a man as
content as a child squashing kittens with a hammer.