The best thing about fishing with dad
Was not catching anything all day
And yet going home together fished out,
With more fish stories and time shared
With which to bait our next hooks
And cast more memories over the water.
My son says that being home is like a replica of being home. I say Kerouac captures something of that. My son says interminable minutes of nothingness offend him most. I say the best I’ve read about interminable minutes of nothingness is in the arid landscapes of Roberto Bolano. My son says that the baseline of existence is chaos. I say that for Empedocles love was the opposite of chaos. My son says that he feels trapped by language. I say you’re sharing an office with Wittgenstein now. My son says life seems emergent. I say Henri Bergson did some creative thinking. My son says nice talking to you dad. I say nice talking to you son. Between us I think, interminable highways of nothingness, replicas of towns, chaos and something quite emergent between fathers and sons.
for my father
Leaving home, sunflower fields on the right.
Returning home, sunflower fields on the left.
How else can one explain the difference
Between a road in space and a road in time?