How lucky some people are like me. To be sitting here in March with our windows open. There are no screens in these frames and the bedroom walls sweat sweet jasmine - the moon exhales hot moisture.

Oceans boil from the core temperature raised.

How lucky some people are like me who love people. We find something devastating and alluring in every hand we shake. In New York in Chicago in Austin of course too. And people in New York in Chicago and of course Austin are amazed by us, too. Or at least they say all the right things to make me think so. I really don't care because sometimes a girl just needs a shoulder massage.

Sugar coated berries are berries all the same.

I consider myself most lucky of all the rational people because I have a brother - a sibling - kinfolk kinda bro. And genetically and circumstantially, he is most like me over any other human in the world. And I, like him. And I like him. In fact, I'm amazed, impressed, humored, challenged and consoled by him.

My little brother is the light of my life.

We are lucky in deed, aren't we?

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