29 October 2011


My Dad flew Camels. I ride them.
He spent far more time in his machine than I do on my chosen mount. He crashed. Might I? 

Did I snag an obscure, stray piece of chromosome or nucleotide? DNA is quite the hot topic now in certain quarters. Or possibly morphic resonance✱ is manifesting, although it seems too fresh by any stretch to be forced into a half-baked notion of tribal memory. Hardly a realistic connection between a rotary engine and a four-legged desert locomotive.
 A tenuous parallel and idle thoughts—you know how it is—emanating from YYZ, or LHR, or wherever I’m temporarily parked on the long way to the Sinai.

✱ post passim

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