Making Easy Things Part 11

Feb 23

This house will keep its value whatever we do. We sleep in and pipes rust, slowly dripping through the drywall. If we sell, the creeping mold will be extracted anyway. It’ll be quaint– part of the rustic appeal. Sticks and binders epoxied one on the other. If we stick with it becomes an art. What scraps around and prop this structure up. There are leaks and covered them with white paint and putty. There is inevitability. The creeping wilderness grows between drywall boards. The exterminator did a great job. There are still those little mice bodies. The mummified ones and thousands of pellets shat out the end. These things may never be seen. They may be figments of my decline.

He gives an assessment. The constituents make a decision based on limited evidence. There is no long-term impact. Any change is absorbed back to moss and silt in a century or two. There is nothing lasting.

More than your weight in spit. The ground itself will soak up mystics. The kids in this house believe in ghosts. It’s hard not to when the ground erupts with compassion for what has happened. Drink yourself to death. There may be a moon to chase. Trace words in the air and they will spin into space. Some ghosts are still affected by gravity. They stay with us for centuries, conveying meaning and wisdom.
We are not dead.