ah, clarice lispector...

i wish i could write like that. how free. how would i write if i could just let go. it's a flowing constellation of winds and words, rivers and trees, clay and butterflies, she can't stop, it's everything. 

i have a thought like that every once in a while, it doesn't make it to words. sometimes light delineates things, everything is itself. no thought lit them. observed they were lit. 

today i said i'll forget your name and i forgot her name. she said i'll forget yours too, i thought it might be senility, but i've always been that way, me too, i said, me too! listen, in nature there are no names. thank-you.