The Fargo Kantrowitz'z Literary Campsite

In a world, a wider world than we’ve ever conceived growing up, where love is disguised hate, where kindness is no longer free, where distrust is the norm, we all learn to survive by becoming what we hate. We do this by lying to ourselves. We lie about everything. Not only that, our feelings lie to our heads. We dont know how to label anything anymore. When the entire world is a symbol for something we can’t conceive of, when every little picture can represent something else, we lose our sense that we are connected. So the squirrel staring at me right now at first perplexed me even as it pleased me. I’ve been half in and half out for I don’t know how many hours, lying here on this mud bank. My car is gone, down at the bottom of that river. I’ve got this squirrel looking at me. I’m not out of it completely yet. I know I am, but I also know that I’m not. I’ve been dreaming and thinking. It’s a peaceful world to know that you aren’t expected anywhere and you can sit and reflect, re-visit the places that you’ve been. As I lay here I realize I’ve been doing plenty of this reflecting. Now I got this squirrel. He’s staring me down. Whope, he just left. I guess I blinked.