At the wedding picnic, Ishmael tied the broken pieces of a giant Styrofoam airplane to his body (side wings to his arms, tail wing to his back) in an effort to fly. Later, in the car, stuck in a traffic, we discuss Icarus. Ishmael, still wearing the wings, already knows the story and plans to avoid using wax.
I met Ishmael’s father twenty years ago, in Michigan, five years before Ishmael’s father met his mother, the woman to my left, at a time when Ishmael was negative twelve.
The longer you live, the less possible it becomes to explain anything.
A man signs a shovel and so he digs.
Accessibility statement, Site map, Syndicated feeds
XHTML, CSS, 508 / Movable Type
© 1999-2007 Michael Barrish