|Dreaming/Virtual||8:18am wednesday, 31st august|
|I think too much on dreaming. For I have lived in my head for many years; it is an easy fallback position for me. The computer, too, is a surrogate for reality. I am struck how after spending hours in front of a screen, looking at everything through a glassy portal, how when I go to the corner store, how exposed everything seems, how bare is the skin of the cashier. That which is out there, the solid, real stuff: dreaming can be a way of avoiding the sharp edges of life; and the virtual world is somewhere else, entirely, and one can get lost there, too. These things are not what is meant by the directive “carpe diem” — to seize the day; the modern world has devised many ways to avoid the day altogether, to become fully involved in surrogates of experience. If I consider it, I should perhaps talk to more people, for this is more to the meat of tasting what life has to offer. It could be that simple. And perhaps wonder about myself five less minutes in a day....|
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|Believing in Love||6:30am saturday, 27th august|
|I remember I used to believe in love. I believed in love so much. But was it like the songs say, “what I thought was love, that must have been lust,” and “I thought I knew what love was, what did I know”? It might have been that in truth, I was kidding myself in thinking that that was what I was so about: love, love, love. I look back now, and I see those times in my past when I was so sure that I knew what love was, where I defined it, described it, said what it was not — and I look now, now that I am a little older, a little wiser, and realize I have no idea what it really is. And when I did, it was like the blind men describing the elephant, one feeling the trunk and saying it was like a snake, one feeling its side and saying it was like a wall. Except that I’m not even sure I was feeling any part of love at all, perhaps only poking around my own illusions, ascribing value to things that never really were.|
Shall I believe in love again, now that I know I don’t know? Perhaps that is the true revelation in discovering what love really is — you’ll never have a clue. Each person who says, “I love you,” is saying something completely different from the other person; and it will be heard by someone who understands it in a completely different way than the one who said it. Yet somehow, it works out, at least sometimes. Why I can write about it at all (why it is written of so many times): even if they are all different, we all have an idea of it. Within us, if we care to look, is the candle that is love, whether we choose to light it or no. And how wonderful that we all perceive this mystery of mysteries in an original way — that is what truly makes us human, the way we love. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.
So where does that leave me? It might be that I still believe in love, and have always. And maybe it doesn’t matter if I don’t know what love is. Because if it really comes down to it, I do know what love is; we all do. It is the meaning of life. People just keep asking what that is because they can’t wrap their minds around that four letter word. And I can believe in that, that life has meaning. Even if it’s not always obvious that it’s there, even if it hurts a little to believe in such things.
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|Happenstance||12:15am tuesday, 23rd august|
|The tumblers lock into place, and what has happened, now is.|
The moment only lasts as long as you do not let go, and then,
you still cannot stop the rest of the world from walking away.
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|This I Must||1:07am friday, 19th august|
|I do not know the meanings of these words; what you are saying is beyond me. You are trying to warn me in some way, I know, but my ears are deaf to these pleas. Someone once told me that some people just have to learn the hard way, even when a simpler course lays itself out right before their feet — and maybe I am not always this difficult, but this time here, I must choose the danger. What shall I say back to you, who speaks wisdom, and I mention only the way of the fool? I understand you have only the best intentions in what road I should travel on, or at least I think I understand enough. Thank you, but no thank you. There are worse things than pain, I think — yes, that is my reasoning. Worse than to suffer is the regret that the day has passed when greatness or terror could have been yours, and you declined to know either: greatness to be, or terror to face. When life is only a lull of stifled chances.... I must do this. Comprehend that I really do have to.|
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|Rain||4:38am monday, 15th august|
|The air is thick|
with a rain that does not come.
This is a dreamless sleep
we wander through,
outside of time, where no one
ever looks. We pass by
as soldiers who have no home
but the war we have won,
and shuffle through
the streets like ghosts,
having no substance (they
look right through us, pretend
that we are not here,
and that they do not fear us).
Somehow, I remember
violence, though all the blood
that was shed was mine,
and I remember
sunlit days that never were,
a childhood that was
somehow more real
than the one we really spent.
Where have I been?
I have traveled
to the beginning of the world,
and to its end,
but what I fear most of all
is this, here, now:
what is real I have no power on,
except to pray,
and believe that in this day
I will not fall when I walk,
that the ordinary
will not overwhelm me.
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|Taking It Easy||12:27am thursday, 11th august|
|I am a little pooped from my full-time job, so this is a little break; here is a picture to look at.|
I have posted this before — the doomsday clock that never rang.
You can click on this one to get a larger version. For your staring pleasure.
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|Night Falls 3||6:47am sunday, 7th august|
|Night falls, and a quiet falls over the land, as if something, somewhere, is going to happen.|
Night falls, like a little end of the world that happens every day, that we’re all used to surviving.
Night falls, and there is new life that awakes in the darkness, and the daylight children are wary.
Night falls, wondering as I wander the city if this, like a dream, will be forgotten in the light.
Night falls, and fires are lit throughout the land, recalling the primal moment of creation.
Night falls, darkness an indelible ink that has bled into every single crevice there is.
Night falls, and nightmares sometimes come true, as sometimes, one’s deepest of desires.
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|Half Pretty Fine||4:53am wednesday, 3rd august|
|Another informal entry. Work is going swimmingly, but then, after my breakthrough in 1997, work has never been a problem. I mean never — even when I still had (minor) hallucinations while work was happening, I never lost a grip on how to get things done. It’s the female situation that always gives me trouble. I suppose it could be otherwise, and perhaps that other way around would be prove more troublesome (after all, making a living is a bit higher on the list than the success of mating rituals), but ever since I have had the mental condition, very little have I been in any kind of relationship that was not platonic. I’m supposing that could be the trouble, as the human interaction thing is something more based on experience (if one does not have natural charm, as I don’t), and the work thing is more application of cognitive ability. I dunno. Maybe it’s not the condition at all; maybe it’s just me. Never had the luck with the ladies, and never could pin down exactly why. This is my lot, I guess. And things could always be worse. (I’ll have to keep repeating that to myself.)|
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