Body of Writing
I knew a man who used to write all day. He
barely moved except to eat, drink, and expel waste. Long days of writing
resulted in restless nights, for, although his mind was exhausted, his body was
like an instrument tuned but left unplayed.
He
took up wrestling in an attempt to quell his restless body, and caused quite a
stir. Indeed, there’s no match for the wrestling technique (or lack thereof) of
a body unhindered by the calculating mind.
It
was during one of these wrestling matches that he was mortally wounded. His
body was cremated, and his ashes were spread rather than contained. His body of
writing, which must have been vast, has never been found.
