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Okay, never before expressed but here uttered: here’s what I love about writing. There’s that outrageous philosophy I first heard about in high school that knowledge falls into definable categories: (1) You Know What You Know, (2) You Know What You Don’t Know, (3) You Don’t Know What You Don’t Know. That’s it – that’s the entirety of the human experience right there. Either you know, you’re aware that you don’t, or you don’t. This was taught to us by an earnest gentleman on stage with what I remember to be red hair, but it could have been floodlights (at convocations at Cloquet Senior High, seniors and juniors got to sit in the balcony), who stated the beer tastes like piss because it’s fermented (people). Believe me, this part has stuck: beer still tastes like piss. Bourbon on the other hand tastes like old wooden houses, and big moustaches ready for twirling, or damsels tied to train tracks, or burnt toast soaked in water with smoke dancing in your skull.

But I digress: today, I stumbled into category two with force. I do know something I do not know, and hello re-orienting experience, it’s pretty good.

Random sentences:

The air was frigid, which he liked, and the walk along the park before the hustle of the day takes over was something he treasured. He would greet warmly anyone it seemed worth greeting, which was everyone.

She staggered briefly, and only after its right foot collapsed, and it tipped over onto its back, did Chris realize how small it was.

It took on an unknowable certainty: “I wouldn’t have felt it if I didn’t notice.”

Hopefully, he reasoned, he had appeared parched and irascible, the same impression he had given to everyone else on the street.

Faith was easy: it was a choice.

He admired her infinitely for this, the fact that without God, his goodness was just the same – Chris, nee, Christian’s goodness – was that of a wallflower to which the whole question of faith was an incendiary: was he just as good, just as kind and loving, as her without the very reason for His kindness and/or Goodness?

And there was no irony whatosever he could detect in the fullness of his feeling. It was insanely pure and good, and it gave his faith a reassurance he could not find elsewhere, in intellect or reason because it was simply full and wonderful.