Drove for two hours with my parents to touch with our feet Lake Huron, who seemed to want to do nothing but wash up bird bones and plastic toys today. Not sure if big bodies of water are a good cure for estrangement for they seem to harbour a loneliness about their own conditions—waves always chasing after something unknown along the coast while their inner landscapes elusively float from place to place, never still. Nothing is for certain in water and it is that constant fluidity that feeds the heart of loneliness. There is also that sense of water making you feel arbitrary. One little red heart against a monstrous blue pulse that is indifferent to your star and willing to take you from nothing to nothing as if it were as common as waiting at a bus stop.