Something is nearby, insistent, impatient. It presses my hand and dares me to peer out the window into the belly of the world. Anything tangible is fixed and certain, and nothing in my life is certain anymore. I am often better with books and words than I am with people, not that I am socially inept, but that people are mutable. You can wake up one morning, and people can be gone.
Immortality is an ISBN number.
This is my message in a bottle, set afloat in a stream of ether. This is the face I turn to you, gentle reader, in hopes you will find something of substance, rescue me from drowning, find solace and then send me there on holiday.