Unable to Feel Again

The wind whipped hard under the eave of the gas station, driving the rain in sideways. I leaned the gas cap door out towards the wind to block the rain from getting into the gas, and backed off 3 meters from the edge while I watched the numbers fly towards twenty at a distance. The children were asking me, if lightning hit the car - what would happen. How strange, I remembered discussing this with a colleague only earlier today - how we had both smiled about living in Florida - how he had almost gotten hit by a bolt of lightning. I told them you would here a sound like this : Zzzzt. then. Pow! I told them you would see a kind of purple glow, and then I asked - but are we grounded? My friend had carbon tires on his road bike. We had rubber, filled with air. My daughter said .. so we're not conducting right..

Right. She seemed satisfied with her own answer. My fucking genius daughter. She spends all of her time these days making films with digital camera - stories of horses with anthropomorphic tie-ins. They fight for control of the pasture land.

The storm was pretty strong. The rain was cold. My heart was somewhere else. I had been working on a piano that night, and it kicked my ass. I couldn't get it to work after waiting three weeks for parts. I felt utterly dejected. I couldn't focus myself - I was here, then in Los Angeles, then Florida, then back to the Piano. It made loud noises I couldn't make go away. Proprietary parts. Korg.

The rain kept coming down, we made it through the covered bridge and midbridge was flooded. Lightning flashes across the sky while I write. Why do I even write?

In the car, my daughter said "I think it would be cool if we could die and then come back to life again." .. I told her no, death sickness is far too destructive to wish that. Thats like wishing a 150 degree fever on someone so they can come back after being packed in ice and tell you what it felt like.

I told them how aging is really a disease, not a state of being. I said maybe we weren't designed to die. Maybe we were designed to live forever. I didn't tell her about my girlfriend in College. I didn't tell her about my own little experiments.

Russian Roulette.