and then i am back, from where i don't know, but someplace i have been, a little hazy place. these last floating weeks have floated me a little, sent me out on a parisian boat, a red one undocked, tied not down to anything. and i am taking photographs, they say, but i have not been living it. here, the three of us drive slow through peak hour traffic, catching feet on lights, reflected eyelids, windshields, hands. we flicker a little, our movement is a flickering, slower paced than i would want it to be. but you get that with peak hour. and so we lean back, heads rested in the cradled cradling of necks, arms reaching back around things to pick at the meal i have just made. tempeh is clasped between the two grubby fingers of a child, popped into now closed lips, swallowed. and then indian rock is a backdrop for nothing, the sunset a backdrop for itself and the city just an invasion. i look into the eyes of these two boys i love, smile at them, at the way they interact, and feel old. my feet form a puddle of strength underneath me, so that it is just me and the rock, holding each other up. me the rock and the way the sky is such a mixture of things, the way the sky doesn't seem to know itself here. i think i have been lost for a little while, and i mutter it to myself, and with the saying of it, it becomes something said. there are many more things that need saying, but i will save them for later maybe, save them for teatime. and today, in the earlier part, i opened my eyes up so wide round the corner and saw all the things i could do for myself, all the things i could do on my own, all the movement and propulsion my arms provide. flapping, gravitational. so thursday it is my friends, but from here that is a claritinous gesture, a mad twitching that will take me somewhere, take me to things, away from things. and then the thing that i see, that i have said already, is that the adventure lies all that i don't have there. in all that i will need to build.