To be alive is just this pouring in and out. Ethics minimal. Try to swim without thinking how it looks. Beware mockery, mockery is too easy. She feels a breeze on her forehead, a night wind. The fox is stroking splashlessly forward. The fox does not fail. 

This happens on a small scale when you lie on your back on a hill on a summer day gazing up and saying, Oh look that one’s a camel! there’s Werner Herzog! a can opener! the Taj Mahal! - the interpretation and reinterpretation of shifting shapes of cloud is one of the most basic exercises in free imagining known to you dwellers on the earth; also useful for reminding you that most of the ideas you conceive about the world are fragmentary, fugitive, self-ruining and soon forgotten. 

For we all know a lover and his
boy are not interchangeable.
Yet Sokrates acts as if he were the boy dazzler
and I the old guy begging for love. 

We want to believe that other creatures grieve like we do. Have we any proof or knowledge of this? Not really. Do we understand how we ourselves grieve? Not really. Grief is big, grief is little, grief is cranky and comes at the wrong time, usually disguised as something else. Chemically, a conspiracy of hormones, opioids and dopamine in the forebrain. I have a sense most grief is also deeply and horribly humorous but we’re not supposed to say so. Aspirin for travellers, grief.