(no subject)

We talked there about life, sometimes, with its one way doors that looked like two way doors and the people and trees nearly everywhere you went. You'd forgotten what food was, and I couldn't picture sleep anymore, even what color it had been. Our discussion made less and less sense and grew brighter as it lengthened and then it was fire like the rest. My last thought about people was how that first man who decided everything was fire took criticism, late in life. He agreed with it all. He said you're right, except it's not that kind of fire. And now the fire that isn't fire is the only kind there is. (I don't remember what speaking is or I would have stopped. I'll stop.)