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| january 2007 |
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| Odds | 1:30am tuesday, 30th january |
We remember the odd thing, here, there, no one knows why there triggers in us the memory. I have forgotten important things, I am sure, and recall the exact color of a childhood toy; and this oddness is what we call normal, regular: the exception is the rule. I might think there is some purpose to the whole affair, but what it may be cannot easily be discerned by these senses of mine: the mystery lingers, the peculiar mystery of it, the eccentricity of this unknown. I could guess that such things reflect the nature of the world, if we think on it, and only consider it odd because of how we perceive what is important to us: through these finite eyes. It may be that infinity must reflect upon the limited in eclectic ways if we are to receive the flavor of what is beyond. Or at least, realize what is out there, out there, odd that we might even conceive that it is.
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| remember | 12:42am friday, 26th january |
strange what we remember, a confetti of images
islands of mundane wonders wandering through our cognitive pools
stray memories of what we never were, time and worlds away
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| Fitting | 2:26am monday, 22nd january |
This skin is finally beginning to fit. Quite recently, I looked at my reflection on the window of the door of the subway and I thought — and this may not seem much to you — “That’s me.” What you need to know about this little realization is how many times in the past I have looked in the mirror, that same reflection, and thought, “Is that me?” or even, “That can’t be me.” There were all those times, when I was tripping on acid, watching the hallucinations stray across my face, looking myself in my eye, and thinking only of what I saw, guilty as charged. So it was with some surprise that this happened, so many years on, this me that I have — that I can accept who I am, here on this blue rock.
Of course, it will take some time more for it to fully sink in, I think, for I look in the reflection and still most of the time feel detachment from this, my self. But perhaps it is God, or some guardian part of me, patting me on the back for having fought and worked long and hard to become this me that I am now. This little realization was that saying, “I knew you could do it. I knew you had it in you.” It was my superego telling me that I was finally worthy to be me. For once I had so much promise that I flushed down the toilet. Only to wade through the sewage system to dig it back up. This skin is finally beginning to fit. I hadn’t realized that “me” was ever something that I needed to earn.
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| Working... | 12:13am thursday, 18th january |
Things fit together, and they function; that things work at all, and that things work, sometimes, so well — I still find this an amazing thing. It is like Einstein’s realization that the most incomprehensible thing about this world is that it is comprehensible: I sit there stunned that you can actually do something, anything, the simplest thing; and that something so intricate like an integrated chip can all of its parts operate in exquisite harmony, without a thought or a care. Maybe it is part of the feeling that I am a stranger to this world, for perhaps many of us have grown accustomed to these things, take these wonders big and small for granted. One day you may turn around and see the world in a different slant, and perhaps it is a form of enlightenment: purpose may be fulfilled, however little, however mighty: it is not in vain, after all. A glimpse of what He said, so long ago — that with God, all things are possible.
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| four | 1:44am sunday, 14th january |
interwoven light and darkness, moonlight mixed with mud
stormwind will know how fractures the stainless glow behind the clouds
lightning in the distance: the sky broken open to expose the electricity
here, where the world ends every hour on the hour, i wait
the fabric unravels, and the shimmering pours out in a million threads
the shadow slips between the pages of forgetting, and never was
this trail out of the collective mind bears footprints tears could not erase
what comes this way has no name, and no one will ever speak of it
the dragon in the sky whirls the tempest and is pure sound thrashing
all paths break; somewhere a hand pockets a sliver of sunlight
i open my eyes, and no one can see me but the angels, everywhere
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| drowned | 1:33am wednesday, 10th january |
i am drowned in the luxurious sound, take flight, aloft
i still recall the fire that propelled me, sublime in its burning
i am far, far away, even here where i am, somehow found
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| Mists | 5:35am saturday, 6th january |
Death is the one secret that is shared by everyone.
Faith is the mystery nearest to us: a breath that can move mountains.
He who understands is often himself misunderstood.
The sound of a thought sometimes makes the heart stop to listen.
He who knows nothing is one better than he who knows it all.
If life were fair, we’d complain about the monotony.
A broken heart, in love, is learning the first words of the vocabulary.
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| transience | 2:42am tuesday, 2nd january |
how memory descends into the unknown depths, into fathomless reaches
the shadow of my true self sifts through me, disintegrating into dusts of light
i become as ghostly as the hush inhaled before the sky explodes in rain
desiring here where moonbeams bloom to ignite some new stars, up, up
and the clouds gather murderously grim tonight, drifting like dark thoughts
(we wait in anticipation of apocalyptic cataclysm, or to become blind with joy)
time wanders on, changes wind and altitude, solemn as a candle, then holds
the dalliance of dawn’s first pale reaches shall color the world in minor keys
we wake from the dreaming numb and erased, tasting palimpsests of motion
moments dip into wondering and leave traces behind to collect as aromas
and nothing shall remain of us but the memory of footsteps, walking away
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