April 6th, 2002 - 8:20 p.m.

A list of surprising things, and moments of peace, with a useless fact sandwiched inbetween.

Surprising Things:
-extraordinarily heavy small objects (i.e. Tiffany's silver bamboo bracelet, ornamental Easter eggs)
-broken promises
-flowers growing inbetween concrete
-sudden bursts of music
-a friend in a mood one does not expect them to be in
-being taken with all seriousness when one is joking, or visa versa
-an avalanche of opinion when one has been less then offensive
-how quickly plants die when they are neglected
-another's ability to be fascinated with a subject or an object that one finds quite dull
-a brief snow storm in the midst of early spring
-a person one has sadly underestimated; a person one has sadly overestimated
-a red ring around the moon on a clear August evening
-anger/dogmatic hatred
-a momentary lapse in reality, when the mind takes over
-a lack of aesthetic sense
-while in complete isolation from any conceivable population for miles, the clarity of the evening sky
-the comfort one can only feel from another human being
-a sense of adventure
-mortality
-the passing of time and space (am not a cubist, after all.)

From up here, if I stare at the ground below with its many toy like people and streams of light long enough, I am there, outside. I momentarily feel the cold. The grainy porous texture of concrete under naked feet. The movement of air from the passing cars. Then I remember to breathe. And blink. Then I am pulled back, the general artificial warmth, the tufts of a neutral carpet.

It has been a total of 120 hours within a 1400 square foot space.

Moments of utmost peace. I can walk on the collective patchwork of tree tops. I can dance on the glassy surface of lakes. Just wait and watch me. I can venture into the depths of the ocean, and sleep amongst the weeds.

N.

�