THE SMALLEST FELINE IS A MASTERPIECE

3:16 Every cat is a work of art. It wasn’t a French man who said that, but he did give us the verses. In that we see what isn’t there in the coding. 17 For who has asked of the wind where are your answers? In grace we breathe in and in praise we breathe out. 18 But let no man live his life by words written down. To do so is holy only in the context of the lonely past. All things are inspired by God. 19 To hear the wind we must first master our own voice. 20 To comprehend our own children we must kneel. But to talk to a cat one must be in a high place.

And I saw his inerrancy. One thing just led to the other so that even the mistakes made sense. That’s the terrible thing about honesty. It’s ruthless freedom. You’re never more free than when you’re honest when you say what’s on your mind the timing not off so that it can be seen as a joke a just kidding so you can say how you really feel. But are feelings honest? And if I took what he wrote and buried it for a thousand years so that in the fresh canonization of history we don’t even try to cover up its embarrassing elements–what say you then? I mean of course I read on after Mason showed me some of his posts but I didn’t let it in until later until after it was in the news about how she shot that pit bull in the face after you didn’t fall there not at Burden Falls but your father found your car abandoned out at the Herrin Reservoir and even then I didn’t comprehend because what the eyes see and the ears hear the mind believes and maybe I was looking in the wrong place or like in those moments when what was right in front of your eyes suddenly comes into focus and what you were looking for was right there all along and like the meaning of a song it all unravels and you say: Oh, I get it now. Because have you heard the melody and not the words? I could see what he was trying to do. He was taking what’s in text format which is written in code and presenting it to us in a visual format. What links behind the icons of our toolbars. But I didn’t get it. I didn’t know what was literal and what was allegory. Whether time was measured by its content. And like the confessions of a scribe what do we do with the notes on the margins? The shame was I was the only witness…

Advertisements