20 March 2006
The Sort of Thing Claypot Dreamstance Likes to Say While He's Waiting in Line at the Post Office
Check your birth certificate for the date you entered the fray. Most people think it was against their will but we don’t know this for sure. It’s possible we all chose our birth place and time and don’t remember. The long sleep before our debut is imprinted on our bodies but memory is a slippery thing that gets away from you. Sometimes it slides and dissolves. Then the date on your official documents is nothing but the equivalent of the journalist’s five Ws: as meaningless as a birth announcement in the local paper placed by parents you’ve never heard of.
Labels: Claypot Dreamstance
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