Dear Mili and Chewing Wax

This was really nothing more than a personal exercise in allowing myself to follow a flow of thoughts, connecting one idea, memory, or thing to another and so on. Don't try and make sense of it--I'm quite sure you'd get rather frustrated. The second paragraph is the first page to "Dear MIli", a beautiful, dark children's book by Wilhelm Grimm and Maurice Sendak. This paragraph, well, it's just incredibly important to me. I felt like typing it.

Chewing wax, green cellophane, beats, blue hat and sunglasses, glitter skirt, mustard, spearmint sticky, red lights, white wine, red eyes, blue eyes, brown eyes, what color where his eyes, slow like sighs, fast dancing, the sound waves so loud they vibrated off my lips, elbows, unicorn meat SPAM tin, his necklace, oatmeal sludging, love, goose blue, goose bumps, hurt, pricks, bites, bruises, black carpet and cream tiles, apple trees, apple bags, apple box, click, red hair and north carolina, philadelphia story, white sicks, juniper, brumble, the Caring, I trust only old and warn out bricks, lights, lights that absorb into your body--absorb and affect, moksha, damp wood, lost jacket, cold shoulders, please hold my hand, cold hands, blue hands, plum, bernard, rust, pages, papers, ink, words, things, impermanence, abject, boiled milk, whales, paled trees that we walk on, cube shook, echo. ECHO.

Dear Mili,

I'm sure you have gone walking in the woods or in green meadows, and passed a clear, flowing brook. And you've tossed a flower into the brook, a red one, a blue one, or a snow-white one. It drifted away, and you followed it with your eyes as far as you could. And it went quietly away with the little waves, farther and farther, all day long and all night too, by the light of the moon or the stars. It didn't need much light, for it knew the way and it didn't get lost. When it had traveled for three days without stopping to rest, another flower came along on another brook. A child like you, but far far away from here, had tossed it into a brook at the same time. The two flowers kissed, and went their way together and stayed together until they both sank to the bottom. You have also seen a little bird flying away over the mountain in the evening. Perhaps you thought it was going to bed, not at all, another little bird was flying over other mountains, and when all was dark on the earth, the two of them met in the last rays of sunshine. The sun shone bright on their feathers, and as they flew back and forth in the light they told each other many things that we on the earth below could not hear. You see, the brooks and the flowers and the birds come together, but people do not; great mountains and rivers, forests and meadows, cities and villages lie in between, and they have their set places and cannot be moved, and humans cannot fly. But one human heart goes out to another, undeterred by what lies between. Thus does my hear go out to you, and though my eyes have not seen you yet, it loves you and thinks it is sitting beside you. And you say: "Tell me a story." And it replies: "Yes, dear Mili, just listen."