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december 2012

Night2:24am saturday, 29th december
Night, and the pale of my thought
is only a distant calling; dreams
are breathing heavily down my neck.

Night, and a distant calling remembers
promises made by people, who
were never there, but were my friends.

Night, and promises I scribble down
to understand their secrets, no
time but now that I may keep them all.

Night, and secrets I never knew cast
pale shadows in my thought; this
night my dreams call me like promises.

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Merry Christmas!12:11am tuesday, 25th december

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Memory2:02am thursday, 20th december
The madness has a memory, I found this out long ago — it might be the first thing I learned of it. The madness has a memory, and it is my memory, used against me. The madness has a voice, and it is my voice, used against me. It is me against me, me outside the power of me, inside me. And yesterday, I woke with my heart broken, inexplicably, and I wondered what portent it might be, a sign of what, exactly? Then late in the night I understood, in these days where I feel myself healing, finally, where I have had previews of what it might be to have a mind that is whole again: it was the madness’ despair, that the curse left by the demon understood, with my understanding, that it is dying. Even that was used against me. But let me not complain at such things. Pain is not always bad.
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Just Because12:18am sunday, 16th december
Just because you can’t walk on water doesn’t mean you shouldn’t swim for it.

One who can forego pleasure to do what is right has got the key to every virtue.

Anyone who does not consider this day, this very moment, a priceless gift: he does not comprehend a right thing about the world.

There are no enemies, only tests.

One shall try to act within the simplicity of love. The pathless path.

We are the universe’s expression of the strange — we are merely so accustomed to ourselves we do not notice how the miracle flows through us.

We are guided by forces we do not understand, except that it is the hand of love that knows us.

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the root4:17am wednesday, 12th december
how cynical and small is the technology of possession
instead to be as miracles are, rare and high
to watch what the stars dream on a clear night
(o that the self in selfishness would slip from my humors)
for i am still stained by darkness now fled
between the night and the waking of the senses
the clear air that enters into the mind with the light
to know all i have, i have been given, except my mistakes
the infinite kindness at the very root of being
and the names of God: the faces of his children

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Race12:35am saturday, 8th december
With small clouds of dust, life blows on by. I never get a clear sight of it: every time I am about to catch up to it, its wheels (or is it its legs?) speed up, and it races off into the distance again. It’s as if I am forever a remnant of the past, that there are people creating the future, right now, but I shall never know just what that is like, being even too slow to experience the present, lagging behind the current and genuine hours. Have I spent too much of my days dreaming? Was I not once young, ahead of the speed of all this progress, or was that a dream, too? I think back, and wonder at the youth who let these things slip by, imagining that time would never forget him. I let go of the reins of life, back then, thinking I could catch up, just race and seize things again. But look at me, who can only see what he has done, knowing not if what he does right now affects anything, if there really is a future at all. Time flies.
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This Is Just to Say1:51am tuesday, 4th december
I threw away those pictures
we took that time
we went to that place,
you remember

when we were so
very happy
and thought nothing
about tomorrow

I’m sorry if you
wanted them,
but they were tattered
and I could not save them

(forgive me, William Carlos Williams)

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