A commercial for the pill says “Be true to yourself.” This could mean when you feel like having sex go for it as long as you’re taking the correct medication. Or it may mean, don’t worry about the typical stuff and go with your gut, your intuition.
And as Microsoft and Mozilla rush to fix the cracks in the pipes, and we continue our struggle with perverse spam in these places, life goes on.
“Be true to yourself.” It’s an odd and philosophical appeal. Langston Hughes had all kinds of fun with it. But what happens to a thing if its critical to scene, atmosphere, or the push of a story, such as a pencil or hair or the dash of a car or the look of the lights across the horizon as one begins the descent home?
I can remember that, since it’s come back. The long drive home at night, watching the glow beneath the clouds, then reaching the top of the rise, losing the road just for a moment, and the drive becomes not a drive but a flight, not a dip down, but a sudden ascent, and the city isn’t a city