From Love

“Blurtso looks at the grass” (II)

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If a single blade of grass exists only as a part of the pattern called grass, and the pattern called grass exists only as a part of the pattern called the world, and the pattern called the world exists only as a part of the pattern called the universe, then everything that exists exists only as pattern, and it is impossible to speak of grass, or pumpkin pies, or “Blurtso”, without speaking of the universe.

“Blurtso pays it forward”

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I have spent my life eating things that are alive or were once alive. I sure hope whatever I become food for… enjoys eating me as much as I have enjoyed eating.

“Blurtso joins donkeymatch.com”

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Hey, a dating site! Maybe I should fill out a profile.

Name: Blurtso
Age: I don’t know, I’ve never cut myself in half to count the rings
Height: I’m not as tall as I think I am
Weight: That’s not polite
Self summary: I’m a sphere whose center is everywhere and circumference is nowhere

I’m good at: Filling out profile questionnaires

The first thing that others notice about me: That I accidentally stepped on their foot

Favorite books, movies, shows, music, food:

books: Remembrance of Pies Past (Marcel Proust), A clean, well-lighted bakery (Hemingway), Where is Ralph Waldo? (Emerson), What’s that in the Attic? (Emily Dickenson), Donkey Hotey (Cervantes), The Idiot’s Guide to Animal Husbandry

music: You can’t roller skate in a buffalo herd (Roger Miller), L’apres midi d’une Trombone (Debussy), Bach’s concerto for trombone and cymbal in C flat minor seventh, Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata for Seventy-Six Trombones

movies and shows: Babbling Brook (ambient dvd), Ocean Waves (ambient dvd), Mountain Majesty (ambient dvd), The Jerry Remy Postgame Show

food: organic, sustainably grown, local, free-range, alfalfa-fed pumpkins (from Pablo’s garden)

I spend a lot of time thinking about:
Thermonuclear physics, string theory, the event
horizon, if Pluto is a planet, how many angels can fit on the head of a donkey, what that smell is

On a typical Friday night I am:
Wondering what night of the week it is

You should message me if: You need an empty pie tin, you found my wristwatch, you lost your Wi-Fi connection, you have an extra pumpkin pie

Profile Photo:

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“Ditto finds a dead tree” (IV)

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Eulogy? said Bonny. Yes, I could say something… “Here lies a tree. It was a good tree. A tree that made use of what was offered, and offered what made use. It grew without haste, and it grew without malice. And when it fell, it made a sound.”

“Ditto finds a dead tree” (II)

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I’m worried about Ditto, said Bonny. Why? said Pablo. Because, said Bonny, he’s spending too much time with that tree.

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Go fish, said Ditto.

“Ditto finds a dead tree” (I)

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Why is that tree different? said Bonny. Because it’s dying. Why is it dying? Because it’s old. Its roots can’t nourish it, and its leaves don’t absorb the sun. Save it? No, we can’t save it. It’s going to die, and then it will fall, and rot, and become food for the forest. You and me? Yes, one day.

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“Blurtso hears a whisper” (X)

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Harlan? said Blurtso. Yes? said Harlan. Are you awake? said Blurtso. Yes, said Harlan. Have you ever thought about suicide? said Blurtso. Yes, said Harlan. Why do you think people do it? I don’t know, said Harlan, I suppose we all need a reason, at least one pure activity to go on living. One activity? said Blurtso. Yes, said Harlan. Like what? said Blurtso. Like anything, said Harlan, love is an activity.

“Blurtso looks at the snow” (XIV)

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More snow. This winter is really something. I think my coat is turning white. Pretty soon I’ll begin to look like a polar bear… or a polar donkey. And on a day like today, I’d be invisible. I wonder what it would be like to be invisible, and not have anyone notice me? I suppose I could always stomp one someone’s shoe… to make sure I’m alive.

“Blurtso looks at the snow” (XIII)

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Harlan should be home soon. His last class ended thirty minutes ago. He’ll probably stop at the COOP for a cappuccino, then make his way up the street and across the bridge, and I won’t even hear him coming, until his trunk fumbles for the keys to the door.