of men and fuckers

Distinction comes with time. That is what we learn to say in response to the decay attendant upon its passing. The blending of flavors in vintage wine, the weathered surfaces of antique marble, the lines furrowing an old man’s face, all signify distinction.


And what good does my distinction deliver to me? Only this, the ability better to discern appearance from truth, opinion from knowledge, desire from interest, conciliation from justice. The passing of time makes me ever less inclined to curtail my inquiry at the surfaces of things, such as the surface of manhood or the surface of friendship. Continue reading of men and fuckers