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This Day3:30pm monday, 28th february
Time is a dream of eternity’s, an imagining
by infinity. We will never truly comprehend such things.
But this, the day that is here: we can make of it anything.

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Destiny12:54pm friday, 25th february
When destiny’s call was far off, when it was merely a thought, an idea, all was well and good. I had hope, I had purpose — I was happy to struggle. But now, I feel as if I grow near something, close to actually achieving something I was truly meant to do, something great. These ideas that I have, some of them are starting to make like they point to some elemental truth, or some such like that. I felt, before, as if I were always on the verge of something big, and now, I feel as if I have breached the threshold, and if I don’t hold onto something good and firm, all the tumblers of my fate will collapse, all at once. And I am afraid to know the calibrations on the great silver wheel that drives creation. Perhaps I am wrong, and what I have is not so fantastic. That might be a relief... or... I am torn. Like anyone, when it comes down to the money of it, I don’t know what I want. Not really. Best, maybe, just to take it all as it comes, whatever comes. And not to be disappointed if success is not so great, nor if I quietly fail to achieve anything at all.
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Desireless11:49am monday, 21st february
There is dreaming, too,
that desires nothing.
It is not, as one might think,
of the man who has
everything, who possesses
all the gifts of the world,
but is of he who has
purpose enough to desire well
when he is awake,
and can make something
of what he has. Extraneous
wanting is solved;
all his dreams do is tell him things.
Too, some fire does not
consume that which it burns,
like the burning bush
which gave light to holy Moses,
as a sign: some fire
is as the breath of life.
For I think it is the natural state
of angels to burn
with a holy light, what we
desire to live as like.
And an angel’s dream
is full of signs, where he travels
to holy ground and listens;
the difference being
the angel goes in barefoot,
while we, like Moses,
must be told, even
in our deepest of dreaming:
“Take off thy sandals,
for where you walk...”

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Incidental10:45am thursday, 17th february
A strange little thing just happened to me. I was walking home when I spied a lone shadow walking behind me down the street towards my door. I looked, saw a woman, then looked back at her shadow. Then I saw her lift her arm toward me, and I had this paranoid thought: maybe she has a knife. After the briefest flash of fear, I told myself, gee — what if she really did have one, and she stabbed me? An exclamation mark of pain, then it would all be over. And all those things that are left unfinished, would they say of me how a tragedy it was that life was taken from me at such a young age? But then I turned a corner, where she kept walking, and no, there was no knife anywhere in the picture.

This little episode made me realize I hadn’t changed that much, even considering that my recovery has for the most part been rather miraculous. That proud and eternally depressed teenager standing face forward at the ledge of death’s leap was still in me, the one who thought it wouldn’t have been so bad if the nuclear missiles had flown and he had lain down in the middle of the street, waiting for impact. Through all that has happened, I’m still me, the same me that I was before whatever madness gripped me. I have survived, that me is yet there. Sometimes I wouldn’t have thought it was possible that the soul survives such harrowing things, but I guess it just does. Amazing.

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In the Dreaming 59:32am sunday, 13th february
In the dreaming, I flew to the source of all light, and was blinded by the fullness of its meaning.

In the dreaming, I wondered how it is that a man can live without practically anything, not even hope.

In the dreaming, I moved through time as if it were a carpet already printed, the past and future indelible.

In the dreaming, fire consumed me, and I as a phoenix was reborn from ashes — and I was yet strangely me.

In the dreaming, I climbed up to the heavenly heights and drank water from the moon, like liquid light.

In the dreaming, I spoke as if I knew things, where upon waking I wondered what exactly they were.

In the dreaming, light poured through me, as if I were covered by eyes, all beholding the wonder.

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Decision9:12am wednesday, 9th february
I have thought of myself at times as like a brute process. That somewhere in me, there is a summation function that adds all my current drives together and formulates a desire — nothing of my choice depends on any kind of will, no kind of choice except what tips the balance of my animal necessities. Even this, even the act of creation, here, that it is merely some kind of sublimation of ancient lust, that I am in as little control of as any kind of blind mechanism. Thus does my mind stray.... And then, I realize that I must not take myself too seriously. I know not the underpinnings of consciousness; and I think it not a simple hack, so simple as what I imagine. Not only that there are subtleties, but somewhere I conjecture that freedom — if only half that of unhindered liberty — that freedom is indeed mine. To be or not to be is not a question to be added together and the sum of it my choice. I am, therefore I think, and I think it not that decision is merely a trivial illusion.
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Dreaming3:53pm saturday, 5th february
In a dream, do we not remember anything at all,
as if there were another lifeline therein, untouched by time:
born into the dreaming, we die back into this solid flesh.

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Not to Fight11:13am tuesday, 1st february
When one confronts head on the system of a madness, on its own terms, one may find he cannot win. He might, instead, strive to break free of the system itself. For sometimes, we feed it by fighting against it; it is a phenomenon spoken of before. Philip K. Dick put it, “To fight the empire is to be infected by its derangement.” And there is the famous quote by Borges: “To refute him is to become contaminated with unreality.” It is perhaps often unwise to combat the madness on its own terms, not the least of which reason being that the terms are most unfair. Sometimes we must not yield an iota — of whatever we are able to hold onto — to the clutches of the invisible demon, whose system is as an incalculable machine. Sometimes, we must outparadigm the paradigms gone awry; but if we find we cannot (we are not supermen, after all) one might, as an addict would, rely on a higher power. Prayer: the last refuge of the hopeless, as it were. One may find such assistance is ready to aid, if one merely choose to believe. And find, too, the madness most fragile to a larger voice.
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