Kerry has already become part of the Vilnius landscape and culture. So, here, each month you will find "A Palmer's Chronicle". I live on this ridge.
Perhaps I die on this ridge could be substituted. As we end up dead I think, therefore we are dying I suppose β moving towards that end. Or turning into a baby, an infinite baby, or maybe an eternal baby. You see how difficult it is to live and describe what that might be, and how easy it is to die and tell about it. I die on this ridge. Not for the view since the trees block that.
No answer. Maybe no one has ever seen me here. No other human that is. But I die and live here. Take green for example. My skin happens to be green. I am green. Or maybe I should say I green. Or maybe I should say I am not blue and not yellow but something in between. And then back to what is green. A color? And I listen to the pine cones falling on the leaves. Ah, there goes one. They remind me how once small pieces of light would fall on the floor of our living room. I would hear them first and then sometimes see them before they disappeared.
My main endeavour then was wondering where the pieces came from. Stars or the sun or moon, or maybe the overhead lamp even when it was turned off. Ah, there goes another. I love listening to the light, the pinecones, the darkness, you whoever you are. Yesterday I was spotted by birders in Vilnius and Rio at the same time, drinking coffee and homebrew, if you believe the newspapers.
I think these photos are of somebody else. I have many doubles in this world. Living or dying, Cast and Pox. I often jokingly call them Past and Cox. Or maybe I have triples. Yes, even that many. A double is obviously by my agreed definition with it, my double. Let those engaged in science explore this. But a triple? And not even Aphrodite would consider making me an effigy. And hundreds of others β leave these connections in the scheme of things up to an accountant.
