A DESCRIPTION OF FATHERS



fathers are made of foil and straw inside a pencil case. 13-0 and Erap Resign! stickers. a list with red Honda CRV written on a piece of paper, in between a notebook, in an old shelf with books nobody reads anymore. sad, browned Watership Down. sweat trickling down his forehead, sticking pins into planets i paraded into school. all the high school kids saying, i thought they were saying, i looked cool.

they say all fathers are absent fathers. like how Schrödinger's cat, and Pavlov's dog must have gone to the same heaven—different animal, same outcome.

when you are looking at a relationship at a specific point on a plane, point C, and you look again at point H, you will most likely describe the relationship with your reference points C and H. maybe you'll tune in at points U, V, and Y, too. now you have it all figured out, because everything in your reference point is real, as dictated by yourself. but what ever happened to the rest of the alphabet?

when I was young, I called myself Anna. Anna is the name of Freud's youngest daughter. Anna is a Palindrome. even if you spelled it differently, the odds tell you that you will eventually spell it right somehow. the answer is six ways to spell it, and five other ways to have it so close together. any name, just so i will no longer bear half of my father's name.

fathers are made of insulin. second marriages, and salvation.