Tattooing the sun is an arduous task; shifting the neurons to interact with the sun’s plasma requires vigilance and the illogical agreement of imagination and matter. There isn’t any way around the sun when neurons flicker and the plasma forks over the corona. Impossible, illogical, and inaccurate. But who can believe all that? Who can really believe that when we are at the bottom of the lake, swimming farther and farther away from the sun, moving horizontally with ease, pushing to go deeper as our lungs resist, become a form of frozen waves; deny defy refute whatever had already been said at the surface.
Andrea Moorhead