“What is the significance of water? At what point do we simply stop drinking and dive in? How much of our life have we been immersed?”

Welcome back, Tony. Full of prophetic nonsense and questions. He’s been on “sabbatical” somewhere in the Far EASTSOUTHNORTHWEST. Meditating, marinating, and smoking everything that grows. He arrived this morning wanting coffee and a blowjob. Upon satisfaction, he began his soliloquy on all things wet:

“I mean, it begins in the womb. We live inside a wet bubble and yet drink from our mother’s straw, our mouth closed to the world around us. And then we bathe. Stewing in the filth of our bodies. There is nothing profound about this–it’s just gross. And our summertime pools, or winter saunas, springtime showers (which isn’t the same thing but there’s water involved), and then the dry, dehydrated fall (because I’m out of ideas to finish this thought.)”

God bless Tony. I have no idea what he’s talking about but I do think he is right about water. I am mesmerized by its ability to render me weightless when I swim and refreshed when I swallow it down. Most of the profundity of my remembering involves some element of this fluid. From the still unsolved mystery of that time I was a baby and bathing with my friend Craig. Our mommies put us in the tub together and something happened but she won’t tell me what. Or the torture of early swimming lessons in ice-cold pools with angry instructors. And then when I got older and stood for hours in the shower fantasizing that I was standing next to some boy whom I loved and we washed away the dirt of our days while delighting in the deeds of our desire. And finally when fantasy became real and I spent that evening lying sadly in the tub with the boy who had introduced me to the art of love.

Michael Stipe referred to all of this as “The recklessness of water.” Well, no, he was actually referring to an evening of skinny dipping. Escaping outside to some lake or pond and swimming naked with friends. I really only went once myself. It was my sophomore year of college and a group of ready and willing friends drove to a state park with large lake. We swam for awhile, despite the cold, and then four of us moved off to the side, away from the light. Two girls, two boys. Mitch was the first to remove his suit and I was soon to follow. The ladies as well, only I must confess they were swimming in the periphery of my consciousness while I floated next to this beautiful boy. It was my first public act of nudity, exposed in all of my insecurity and delight. We held our suits above our heads to prove that we weren’t wearing them. And that was all. It lasted minutes only. But that was enough.

Tony is still talking, peforming his latest tribute to some abstract concept. He just said something about some toy he had as a boy, a shrunken brain, which he put in a pot of water and watched it grow for days and days. He thinks this is a testament to the infinite wet, to the nature of existence. As for me, I have no idea, but I sure am glad he has returned.