Ken is practicing a song on the piano. Maybe he should sing it. It's a matter of course of knowing his piano. He's not practicing a song, he's practicing the piano!
I'm drinking apple juice with dextrose (a type of sugar found naturally in apples and other foods). Introducing Dextrose! Pray to Allah and maybe he will spare you when he sets the world on fire.
Where or with who will I be on that day? And how many people and adventures will I find in the wind storm and rubble? I will live, but will it matter whether or not I help anyone else to live? This is no Last Judgement. Those who have learned or who still know how to live will survive. Nobody will go to hell, they will just die. There is no limbo either. Anyone who didn't find a way to be immortal is just dead.
Striving for immortality, some Spanish philosopher (who looks like Don Quixote) says he understands and it's alright. I will read what he wrote and probably agree, but is he immortal? Not his body, but his thoughts. True, I say, but this also: Not his mind, but his thoughts. Unchanging and finite. Put them in a hatbox and pass them on as heirlooms.
Be a firm believer in dead men passing on their knowledge in print and painting. But beware of liars, don't believe everything you read. Imagine it's a friend telling you something.
Back here, I'm so afraid I can't go out by myself. It's sunset and I've been indoors all day, and inside of me is my ball of fear. We are both occupied, Ken playing the piano just burped. I'm reporting it to you. There's no good reason for you to want to know this but I am not the one meant to decide. I speak and your responsibility is to respond, and you speak and then, if I weren't going bye-bye, I'd respond to you. If you think about it, it's very hard to play a song.
Copyright 1983 & 2007 by Robert Ronnow.