what does it all mean?

A funny question popped into Lohbado's mind as he took a sip of room-temperature coffee from a pot brewed the day before. Bitter taste evoked memories of school-boy days, when he liked to bite his pencil. It felt good, pressure against molars, acrid flavour of wood and graphite. That's how yesterday's coffee tasted Monday morning.

Lohbado enjoyed little shocks to the senses, as they startled him out of stupor. If everything was totally agreeable, his mind might shut down. He could easily go into jelly fish mode and be swept along like an old blob.

He thought of the mighty river. Montreal fills an island, an old mountain in the middle. So much spring rain meant high water level. Access to the rapids was closed. Lohbado walked along a grassy peninsula. Beautiful trees grew along the spine of the park. Sculptures here and there added to the effect of being in a place of beauty, of nature in the city.

At the tip of the park, a woman did some sort of slow dance and appeared to be in communion with the cosmos or the elements. Lohbado's questions spilled out from his mind, into the river and were swept away. Meaning, nonsense, a subject, an identity, gaze towards the horizon. Take a deep breath. Let go.