ninety six

Got an acceptance today for a story i was quite unsure about. I wrote it a week or two ago and it was the first story since December that was over about 700 words, and it topped out near 4,000. It’ll be over at Writers’ Bloc come August, which is forever away. I look forward to it, anyway.

I’ve been thinking about romanticism and empiricism lately and where i fit. Like most dichotomies, i seem to fit somewhere in the middle. I’ve a heavy empiricism in me, needing to know the nitty gritty, the minute, having verifiability, reasoning, proofs, all that. It’s the way i think too, the scientific method, all conjecture, experiment, test, hypothesis, and so on until i come to what i believe is accurate enough for the moment. But, at the same time, i’m a big picture person and can’t be bothered with details. Too, there are so many things i don’t believe in that’re always on my mind. And i’m exceedingly superstitious.

It’s like waves crashing into an island lighthouse. They’re both trying to shape me and they do, but it never becomes clear who’s winning or what the winning shape would even be.

I’m made of water.

I’m also just a romantic at heart. The lover kind, though i’ve rarely a reason to exhibit this behavior. I think we’re all romantics, us men who pretend with letters. We’re always chasing that perfect moment for all the days we live, all the moons under which we sit.

Of course, there’s no reason to bother figuring it out.

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