05 August 2006


Suspension of This Belief

A bridge builder waded into the river and sunk a piling into the bedrock. Then she grew old and died. Her daughter sunk a second piling into the river. She sat on the bank and admired the two pilings. She was so moved by their simplicity that she did not sink a third. Generations passed. Another bridge builder sunk the third piling. The resulting asymmetry pleased him. He chose not to add another. Centuries went by. A fourth bridge builder approached the site. She was disturbed by the disruption in the river’s flow. She removed all three of the pilings.

Moving. So to speak. You know, like rivers. Or pilings. Or something. I need some sleep.

I like it, is the point.
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