the truth, some of it

I do not know why complicated brain structures tend to be laminated, yet they do. Our own cerebral cortex is laminate, six onion layers, our cerebellum has plenty, in Morymyrid fish, there are organs of extreme neurological complexity associated with the processing of neurological impulses, and for some reason, I think lamination is tantamount to the potential for thought. I was, and still am, consistently impressed by the cognitive power of parrots, toucans, crows. I hear woodpeckers are pretty smart too. I would never volunteer to be one of those to vanish, but I would love to live on an earth with a mere five hundred million people, its present cultures intact, just represented by fewer individuals, I wonder if, at this density, we would be able to remember all the things we have learned, and I think that, perhaps, we are destined to reach these numbers sooner than we might prefer. I miss the smell of the ocean and I miss seeing the things in it. It makes me feel powerless that I have not arranged to move closer to it. It makes me feel powerless that I cannot control time or read minds either, though some might say these are less reasonable expectations, I have tried both of them with the same vigor. I am lonely, but in a strangely good way. Nothing is wrong, everything is right, but the flowers are all gone and I realize that, like morymyrid fish, toucans, and alpine buttercups, someday I will die, this is natural, and though I have no desire to put a stop to it, I am frustrated by my lack of ability to visit my previous selves properly. I should be able to stay here, in this moment, sun set, streetlamp in an evening sky, summer finally warm and my mind filled with the soft nuances of seratonin. I told you I love you because I do love you, even though it is like the love of a rainforest vine for its beauty and its tenacity, or maybe you who are reading are the one I love like the feeling of a soft blanket and a fire, or maybe it is you, the one I love like bubbles in a glass of Pilsner and the promise of wonderful misdeeds, maybe I love you for the way you look at a Winnebego and see a pirate ship, or the way you actually have committed acts of piracy from a winnebego, each of us can be so many things to one another. I am mystified by our ways sometimes.