Thursday, April 04, 2013


"Bougainvillea in the Alley",
oil, by Kevin Inman
     Every Thursday is recycle day in our neighborhood, but no day – no moment – misses a chance to recycle all things, even all thoughts. All the bones in my body are built from second-hand atoms 
that have been recycled innumerable times over billions of years. My skin is formed from infinitesimal flecks of matter that have been used and reused by the universe since it started eons ago, and the blood that brings life to me is made of reprocessed atoms as old as the stars. Even my thoughts, those sparks of intelligence I foolishly call “mine”, are simply secondhand ideas shared and passed down by countless numbers of people since prehistoric times. There’s never a new thought, just thoughts that have been used and loved and enhanced and shined up for centuries, and finally given as gifts to me, to use and care for and then confer on others to love and use with good sense and discretion, and then pass on again.

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