...a son who would take the ropes...

I'm caught between two ideals.

Passion.

Consistency.



- - love is zeno's dichotomy paradox. assume i choose passion as a goal to reach. to get there, first i must get halfway there. before that i must get a quarter of the way there. before that, an eighth. but every step can further be subdivided and i don't even have a starting point (that can be divided, too). the situation is worse than hopeless since never mind about finishing the race, it looks like i cannot even begin. - -



I feel compelled and caught in the consistent. We are being paired by all the elements - our friends, my friends, the ones we ran into on the street last night, the parents who saw his hand graze my knee, the smokers outside of the bar who saw his arm around me as we left. "Are you a We?" No. No no no. Not at all (yet). "You're not giving him a chance". I know that, actually - but can't help it, all my chances are currently occupied.

And when, lacking a way to unite the two concepts, you have to choose between the lifetime comfortables or the 5-minute elations... wouldn't you rather have elation? Even when it's up and down, and tenuous, and brief it still appears sometimes, mostly on Sundays (especially between the hours of 4 and 7, judging by previous examples) and you are ready for it, and take flight. Never just always on the ground.