hyperbole is a poor title for this entry

The funny thing is that I can sense his hyperbole, but I cannot call it into question. Everytime that I try to I feel as though I fail to do that. It seems that there is some cheeky person who actually has the strength to remain cheeky. Someone is a child and an adult at the same time. I think that this is the hardest thing that I have to deal with. How to be a child and an adult at the same time. How to grow up without growing up. How to grow up without growing into death. How to grow youthfully. I want to be the vine that grows. I want to be the man who copulates and keeps his virginity. I want to keep the purity of youth while I swallow the tainted juices of knowledge. I am damned if I do this. I am damned if I don’t. I want to be a man who is a child. I want to be a child who is a man. Alright this is totally of the subject, but maybe not so much. I think that Emerson wanted to be absolute and human at the same time. And it is this hyperbole that allows someone to have a sort of double vision or double time. Think about it. I am aboslute and individual at the same time. I can’t think of anything that is singular and absolute. You liar. yes get around to it. Why can’t you speak alone. I can’t speak without air. I want to keep all the air that my voice vibrates, so I will speak less and buy more mason jars to keep all the air that has felt my whispers. You are breaking loose. Break loose and think about the time that you flew with your knees tucked in. There are bodies all over this valley. Sometimes when I ride my bicycle I retreat my soul into the movement of the pedals. There is nothing in my lungs pulling the air in and out, and by the time I am about to pass out I quickly draw my soul back into my body to save myself from falling off the very bike I am possessing. You can’t see the truth of constellations unless you try to find the connection between you and raindrops that are sliding down a robin’s back. I’ve brought you a glass of water, water that has dripped off the tips of branches. It’s pure branch dripped water. I’ve been drinking cups of water dripped of a variety of things. One morning after it rained I followed bees around and put my glas under every flower they visited and gathered the water that dripped off. You know when you drink water from bee shaken flowers you grow to understand the square root of your mother. You understand her cancer. You understand the kind of silence that chokes your father on mother’s days. You understand the time that you slipt into a man with a wet beard. You understand the moments that you have spent your whole life standing in grocery store lines waiting to check out your red basket of tomatoes. I’ve also been taking drippings from the rain gutters. When I drink this water I become bloated and sick, which awakens my taste for bad novels that I found in a basket out back behind the thrift store, that someone left for them to take in the morning, but the rain got to it in the night and I got to the basket before the clerk got to the back and I found in the morning light as I rose from a whiskey stink the basket of books and I’ve been peeling the pages back from one bad page to the next. It was less about the words and more about the feeling of peeling wet tan pages. They say the smell of books causes people to garden, and that the garden causes people to accept death, and that accepting death causes people to adopt orphans, and that adopting orphans is a way to see the face of god, which hasn’t been smiling because you haven’t been reading enough books that are wet. I encourage you to go to the nearest thrift store and buy the brownest pages that you can find. I promise the novel will only cost less than a dollar, and you have a sink, you American, and you have water, you Westerner, and you have the time, you nine to five moron, and you have the novel now soaking in the water and now I ask of you take the novel outside while it is raining and read that novel. Read it out loud and language you self down the street. Don’t worry if you read novels outside in the rain no one will hear you because most people keep everything closed when it rains and the static noise of raindrops falling is enough to keep your voice hidden.