Laying on the couch in my brothers apartment in Springfield, Oregon and I am unable to sleep trying to think of how dipped candles are made. Two in the morning, people are running water, the harrowing rushing sound of moving water, pipes connected (if I empty the toilet perhaps we can talk like they do in prisons? Head in the bowl, tapping messages, whispering jail break secrets...) but really I am thinking about National Geographic writers and the how they do what they do. They are the white wick dipping again and again into the hot pool of liquid wax- immersing themselves in Bosnia, Ireland, Pandas, Beiruit, Mummies of Mayan sacrifices found on the sides of mountains or any one the articles I've read in the past week. The writers immerse themselves in layers of their subject matter. . .
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