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| october 2014 |
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| notes | 4:52am tuesday, 28th october |
there is a song written of forgotten notes
sung by silence, when the trees are still
unmistakably haunting as it slips away
as time drives you on past the moment
to live life as if we never knew the secret
yet holding a hope strange with simplicity
breathing in breezes, a rustling of the trees
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| Standland | 9:01am friday, 17th october |
So I have finished the hard part, though it is also the fun part: my book has a beginning, middle, and end. It’s about 180 pages. As a complement to my last book, which was mostly philosophy, this one is almost all stories. A much lighter read, but you know I’m not the kind to write fluffy prose. But the subject of both books (which, by the by, are not books 1 & 2 of any I’ve ever written, but 2 & 3) is the War in Heaven. It starts with 10/7/88, which is a date, which is in the very early archives of this site, where I get drafted into service, and it concludes with me finding the meaning of life. Essentially. So there’s that.
As far as the day job goes, went to our second client conference in Berkeley a couple weeks ago. I presented for about half an hour, in which I tried to give 2 demos when the internet started cutting out on us. I did get through it, and all was for the best. I find that it usually is. Which is good long term, but after the last project, a project from hell, I’m on another very stressful one; we’re right now more than a week behind schedule, a schedule I made. I just crossed a milestone last night, anyway. But I dream that my books start selling in large quantities, and I could do what I wanted. Yeah.
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| beware | 4:59pm friday, 10th october |
the madness has a memory
beware the quiet
light flutters at the edges of my vision
and i let the curse feed my fire
like a silent delirium will i pray
outwardly to despair, to play a different game
inwardly to hold on, a wingèd strength
aesthetics string delicately together
where the art has stretched out its meaning to harden
to leave roses in our wake...
holy fire burns me, the ecstatic flames
love will heal in this way what cannot be mended
i am not mad:
eyes that have ranged far countries return only halfway
and the pain is a blindness
how can they not stare?
for we are all fearfully and wonderfully made
to pierce into the mystery with dagger eyes
to find what we had had all along
the curse lost in the light
the doom lost in futures past
beware the quiet
the madness has a memory
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| memories | 11:46pm sunday, 5th october |
memories are light
running through sunlight dappled days
a cushion of youth spilling everywhere
memories are heavy
remembering the grace of someone
whose face no longer looks out into the day
night comes easy
the scattering of cricketsong outlying
the smell of meat basted in tangy summer
night comes hard
the years of wanderlust supressed, a lifetime
the desire that would never know light
and there is life
the experience of change of dark and light
memory keeping track where you got hurt
and here is life
sometimes it never seems to begin
but to know hard that it has an end
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