On Polar Bonding

When I get to my friend's studio apartment around 9 at night, the groceries are already being unpacked, the dog is asleep in the bed. He has ticks. The groceries are being pulled out of cardboard boxes: dandelion tea, Old Bay seasoning ("ATTN: Mostly SALT"), green tea with pomegranate, sardines in lemon olive oil, whole ginger roots, purple onions, a slab of chaga mushroom, cranberry tea ("Back On Tract"). On the shelves already are two canisters of cocoa powder, cayenne, Celtic grey salt, almond butter. This is my friend and we have many of the same non-perishables.

What is the half-life of knowing someone if for less than your whole life?

People may perish but friends are non-perishable - titles, considerations. Are thoughts real? And here in this studio, my friend and I, we have many the same. Friends of friends we began until I sent an email, made a drive, came to stay. Strangers in another's kitchen divulging stories while the pilot lights stayed lit and wavered, even when we turned off the electric bulbs and went upstairs to bed. That was over six months ago. More than half a year has passed. Friends we became sharing words and ideas, the things we enjoy and the things we appreciate. "I know him," I said. "I know her," said my new friend. Suddenly I was knowing everything.

What is a friend if you are not a child?

Here, we are friends again in the studio apartment where the groceries are lush on the shelf: a mix of the riches from generic supermarket corporate brands and handcrafted jars of mixes and cultivated honey. Local. We are points of loci on the ellipsis, fixed as marks on paper or orbiting an Adam to ourselves like electrons and protons and neutral invisible specks of energy around each other and everyone else.

My friend sweeps twice the dust, the dirt, the dog. We are both allergic to dust, we share this non-perishable. We are in common.

My friend and I have not stayed close. While I became closer in proximity it still was not close. The ellipsis extends in two directions and I took off like a ray. It is funny to me how being so much closer now, we have actually spent less time together, talked less. I think of having evaporated. I dissolved into the rest of the page, water on charcoal on paper. You can't make nothing out of something but I took whatever I was and set it to steam.

If not bound by blood, what is the meaning of another person?

The water cycle begins with evaporation of pre-existing molecules, condensation into newly formed droplets, and precipitation of the act of being water.

To continue the cycle, water only becomes a body when it accumulates after precipitating. The release of what has been created must become runoff in order to accumulate.

My body as an adult female consists of 42-54% water, 50-60% water, or up to 70% water depending on the study you are consulting. Body water is considered a "significant fraction" of a human body, in which it is not the whole but is an important excerpt. It is not wrong to consider my body water the thesis of my body. I think of how my life has been condensing every stimulus, memory, feeling, vision, sound, and thought into a cloud that will not precipitate.

Condensation does not, but could, be broken into con + dense + at + ion which does not, but could, mean something like the cynical vapidity of being particles, or gathering in particular to runoff.

My friend and I, with our many commons, our mutual friends and interests and places, will be. You cannot make nothing out of something. We apologize to each other for not being these past several months. We agree to disagree we have not been. We are both in orbit on an ellipsis and now I am breaking from the bond, one particle in particular I am going off as runoff, I am accumulating at the bottom of the mountain, in the body of water. The cycle continues.