Once every few ticks of the clock there occurs a conversation with another dying human being such as to stimulate one's thoughts beyond the bold territorial borderlines of daily grind. I was the monkey in the middle of just such an event this fine Friday evening. From Escher to bike trips to streaking, topics flew by like the streakers in the stories and we were entranced by it all. Unable to arouse our reluctant prisons out of the sitting position, we talked and dreamed on while the hour hand lapped itself on the clock and the world grew one hour younger.

How is it that the thought of man can run in so sloppy a line and still realize its deficiency, reveling in the wonder if it all the entire while? I know not, but am thankful for such a gift as the mind that came with the added bonus of the body with which to live out the dreams of the chirping wires in all that gray matter. Or whatever.

It's late and I'm tired. A normal consequence of an exhausting, but in the end quite fulfilling day. There is much to think about while so little chance of finishing thoughts, it's no wonder we were created to live forever. I wonder that God can contain it all.