I'm swimming in a giant ocean. The trees over there out the window are part of me and im part of them. My arms have golden orange leaves, sweet smelling beautiful transforming leaves, clinging on to them. The wind, an extension of my breath, shakes everything. It makes us dance, it makes us throb, and shiver, and bend and sway. Supporting us one way or another. The sun comes down, bounces off the ground and flies in every direction filling my eye and swelling me up from the inside. My slightly gnawing hunger and caffienation always seems to make me aware of these things. Im not inside, the trees arent outside. My eyes have just managed to pack everything into neat little boxes. Where do I end? Where does the table start? I could pretend I end at my finger tips and the table a foot in front of me. But I want to see things differently, at least for some time. To think outside myself, think for him and her . Her happiness is my happiness is everyone elses collective harmony and peace. It is not me against the world. It is not me and my immediate companions against the world, the government, society. Sure, I must collect myself, be sure of myself, know myself, whatever that means. But I am not white against black. Just as race is an illusion, so is right and wrong, at least in the usual sense. I am not right, you are not wrong. And vice versa. Numbers and statistics, news programs, figures, ideals, don't account for the truth. There are symbols hovering around in some fantasy statistical cloud just out of the corner of my eye, and then there is the truth,which escapes this computer, the words at the ends of these keys, the notion that a “disabled” child should be put into a little box and will live a predictable future and will never succeed in any significant way. When will we eradicate the middle man, the directions, the maps, the guidebooks, and start living for the details, by the details?

-sammy