and I’m praying not the folded hands kind eyes closed a speech summoned where you choose your words carefully because there ain’t no now to pray for later or ask why about what happened in the past time just is you see my father taught me that not while he was alive but after he was dead that strange connection closeness to someone you loved dead you didn’t have with them living for if the bond was strong while alive it is even stronger after it dies and I talk to him not prayer and he talks to me not words really nothing spoken just those gentle nudges sometimes a clarity and even if ain’t something spiritual something explained by simple psychological mechanisms I still like attributing it to him because then when the wind blows I can smile even when I cry and say:  Thanks Dad

but yeah he taught me that just how he taught me how to play golf how time just is indifferent to the variants the labels we give for time does not pass we pass we give it a past imagine a future but really all this is for a reality we can understand even when we get mad confused depressed about why bad things happen to good people something our reality can’t explain unless we animate time and theorize that maybe hey the interference here we can’t explain is just from other worlds infinite splitting and dividing and you me this fetus where fate means nothing because in another reality it’s justified even if you don’t understand it…

THEN THE HEAT CAME THE HOT SUMMER EVEN AS THE FALL WAS APPROACHING.  That was when you were alive and held the flag but now he is dead and after three days I want the stories to be different—I see nothing wrong with that—any true story must contradict…

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