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Meaning7:02pm tuesday, 24th november
The believer said there is a God, and explained how a book he had told him all about that God, and since he had been told what to believe about Him, there was no need to add or subtract what he thought God’s will was. The atheist said there is no God, and explained how science tells us all about the world, and that since science could not make sense of omniscience and omnipotence, God could not possibly exist, and if anyone said there is a God, that person better have some extraordinary evidence to prove it. The agnostic said he didn’t know whether there was a God or not, and he went on to say that this was the most rational approach, because he said that no one really does know, neither the believer nor the atheist, because you cannot prove it either way—at least, not to them. Then there came a child who would lead them all, and the believers said it was foretold, and the atheist said he was a prodigy, and the agnostics said, let’s see what he does. The child said, “Wise people before me have told you how to live, no matter what you believe. Why do you not do it?” Then he said, “Do you know what it is, the meaning of life?” And they all huddled around him to hear the words. “Life. Life is the meaning of life. Now go, be meaningful.”
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matter12:33am monday, 16th november
we must live like it matters that we lived
we must work like it matters what we do
there is so much hate, so much cruelty
i tell myself there is hope, just wait
understanding to wait is not nearly enough
the knowing in me says the beginning is near
i want to shout it from the bell tower!
when the shrapnel flies in certain quarters
we all shrug our shoulders, think nothing
nobody says, never again—it is always again
can it possibly be we will never awake?
evil is entrenched in the world at large
the documentaries show it to our faces
so many are become the refuse of this age
dead dead dead dead... they are all dead
sometimes to think a good life is an island
and the oceans around us all are toxic
at any given wave to sweep us into tragedy
we pray and hope that mercy does not expire
we must live like it matters that we lived
we must work like it matters what we do
but if the unkind renders us casual victims
you will find us heroes, newly found braves
this audience fears not to take the stage
and you will find it is you who are afraid

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The Prophet8:41am sunday, 8th november
The prophet stood in the middle of the street with his proclamation: “THE BEGINNING IS NEAR!” And no one knew what to think. What did he mean? The world for all appearance was in the middle—of something or rather, right? That was all that anyone knew of it. When they came forth from their mother’s womb it was to join a stream, the world stream, whose beginning was too far back for any memory, save stone, and stone it was sometimes difficult to pry any recollection from it, what had been when it had been younger. And the end, one might admit, was something of a mystery too, for when anyone ended they were no longer around to prize their circumstance. But when people said that the end was nigh, this was what people were expecting to hear, from the wild eyed and wild haired servant of some god or cause. It was understood: they were talking about the end of the world. So what was this, now, all about, the beginning? How can the world begin if we are at the middle? Or even were we to restart, wouldn’t the world have to end first, to begin again? The prophet said, “It will not be tomorrow, but some tomorrow’s tomorrow you will look around and wonder how it could have been, the injustice, the hunger, the hate, and the stupidity. For the world will wake from its madness, and sanity will dawn. Only fingers of that light peek through now, but night is ending. The day when it will be such day, it draws near.” Then the prophet disappeared, in a crowd that shuffled onward toward the future.
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ahead6:32am thursday, 29th october
i live in the future
in the horizon where earth meets sky
where heaven and hell mix as steam
driving the engines of creation
and exhausting all magic
the wildness of fire: we danced
the exterior world a rushing wind
there is nothing but starstuff
naught but the dust of light
a slow parade of memories
accelerating to the moment where i am
and time is invincible
i a placeholder in a vicious equation
the math exploding in its calculus
i have emerged backward from the possible
i am the imagination of light
i have inhaled the void
i breathe out breezes that become lost
i have come from judgment day
to tell you there is a day after that
the future is perfect
as all things are that do not exist
is it all a dream, the things to be?
or are even dreams of the past?
what you seek, you will find
you need only to discover your search
you live in the future
and then you act upon the notion
to cross the threshold into existence
there is no time, only change
there is no darkness light cannot solve

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The Library of Babel, Revisited5:27am monday, 19th october
The angel Metatron was charged with cataloging the Library of Babel. He took a look, climbing out into a 4th spatial dimension to get his bearings. In eternity there were still remnants of the great War (that having been in eternity somewhere it still goes on), and a smoky residue whisper drifted by saying, “Set it all under ‘fire’.” It was not helpful. Metatron did wonder for a moment how Lucifer might have done it. No matter. He thought of how fast he could flip through all the pages if he made his hand androidfunction and spin off a minor eternity in that process. Which really didn’t help either. What does one do with infinite sets? Did the Architect lecture about this once? Perhaps he had thought that that subject was so obscure as to be only useful in the most corner of cases. Which of course now would be that. He searched his memory, and there he remembered with perfect angel knowledge that the topic had been infinite sets of metaphors. Was he looking at the problem wrong?

Was it really dividing information into subsets that have some meaning in common? Except that to statically divide and conquer will be at some point, reducio ad arbitrarium. It would need to be dynamic, if it could not be absolutely objective. Then, he had it: make the Library self-aware, so the texts could read each other. Then you would have all the books in two main varieties: one with all words and grammar spelling out sensible things, and then the other would be in different degrees of derangement. There would be exceptions to that division, of course, but if the awareness were a natural one, the exceptions (the mad genius ones)—they should translate just fine. So, imagine a symphony in n dimensions, where organization is the music: they arranged themselves under books that categorized them, for these must exist, then recoalesce in other categorizations based on commmon affinities that they shared, and networks of all possible organization schemes begin to form, to spin that process out into infinity. There. And so the job was done. In one eternal hour, not bad for a day’s work.

One might imagine that even the deranged books worked something out of that kind of arrangement, though one might think only Cthulhu or his minions would benefit from their organization.

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the search4:47pm monday, 12th october
beauty i have searched for thee
upon starry mountaintops that chill the bones
the hours now thoughtless vanished
i will not despair in their incidental slips
what is this fluttering light?
have i touched the feet of death in dreaming?
for in desire is hollowness
that draws from the inner darkness, given season
those, who in desperate reaches
cast out the most precious of light at random
is there a coin that one saves?
a way back from the far shores of the styx?
rapt in the sound of wings
i rise from the dirt like sudden treetops
back into the sky and spinning
the rhythm of my blood like red, red rain
to alight in breezeless fields
where i remember in a rush how the story ends
and time skipped over a moment
where i stood forever, still, like love does
i could not keep myself secret
not there and forgotten, though a solitary king
those fingertips on my ear
as the whisper told me i was yes, and awake
the world turned incrementally
the despair i stole from hell when you loved me

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Heaven5:15am wednesday, 7th october
There was a man who had a dream that God took him to Heaven. It was not a near death experience, and there was no light to go into, no tunnel. It was a dream. In a short space, he was taught that there was an infinite possibility in all things, of which there was only one that we could see in what was known in the real world. Also there was a short lesson why you do not take the name of the Lord in vain, for that name was weightier than all the world. And what was God like? Actually, He looked like Jesus. Which made sense to the traveler, because that was the best way to understand Him, as the man on the cross. God was quite gentle. Truly, as God is love. It was not as dazzling as you might imagine, this trip to the Good Place. It was mostly to inform the man of the possibilities, as that which could have the most effect as information carried back down into the world. He only had this to say, the next day: “I have been to Heaven, which is more wonderful than anyone can imagine. Have hope. That is what I learned. Though the beauty in this world is given more sparingly than that above, the great potential of earth, our home, to understand how things can be gives me joy in my bones. Don’t give up. We can change the world, indeed, we are changing the world. For the better. Hope!”
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Nice6:44am tuesday, 29th september
The biggest news in Standland? The Russian model is getting married. The only superhot chixx0r that I ever had had a chance with. Now, history. Found out on Facebook when I woke up Monday. I was like, crud, then, eh. It was not like I was going to marry her anyway. I also am kinda diggin’ on this geek girl who lives in Brooklyn, who unfortunately has a boyfriend. And who could be said to be a little young for me, too. So there it is. In other news, this is the third year that I have been writing, and I mean writing in quantity. A lot, though nowhere near as prolific as Philip K. Dick, of course, his drug being speed and mine Benadryl. I probably have written enough this last year for my third book in three years, but right now they're on a website, for the most part. In still other news, I think I have a model that solves the AI-complete problem of natural language reasoning. Look up AI-complete, it's a fascinating field. And I hope to have some code written by the end of the year. What else? I have started to go to mass again, after a stretch of absence, and my madness seems like it's about to resolve itself. Of course, that's what I thought before the Event happened to me. Wonder what will become of it all? Yeah, nice. Nice. Very nice.
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goes or stays6:58am saturday, 26th september
she doesn't know whether she goes or stays
the symmetries tell her where not to wander
she left two eternities behind
not to desire any future you can buy
she is close and whispers secrets
she is distant, but this is a trick of the eye
listening at oblivion's door for stragglers
scrounging parts to build a time machine
she fits nowhere in our history
she sits and waits for her gravity to kick in
the smoke of her dreaming to ascend
a dizzying freedom to awake, now
astonished at how a star can aim from way there
where time travels backward with distance
she is part of the mystery of dance
of the cosmos reaching to infinity
time not keeping it from happening all at once
she becomes a twinkling in her own eye

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found9:47am friday, 18th september
rolling back, back to the very beginning
now with eyes to see
love is a present from father to daughter
yet love is not a thing
love is a midnight drive to fetch some pills
yet love is not an action
all we can do is point to where love is
a direction outside space
the mystery of the rose’s velvety beauty
they believe they know
they think they can speak of love with a flip
emergent as a utility
from the pragmatism of evolution’s hand
just a shade of affection
but if i say your idea of love is too small?
for love is of the stars
love is the substance of the infinite Lord
and He is naught besides
the simplest of all, simpler than nothing
why any of we all exist
once i knew what love was, the illusion
so sure i was I KNEW
the mystery so plain in what my poetry said
but when i looked within
i found i held a husk long empty of sweets
to see with humble eyes:
love is the nothing that is everything
the oblivion that gives
for have you ever wondered? do you not know?
love was there ere light
when suddenly one discovers they are found
for this is what love is
infinite in story, as it was meant at the first
to be found… everywhere

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Extraordinary5:42am thursday, 10th september
There was a man who never did anything extraordinary at all. He was born, then went to school, and there he made some friends. Some of the boys and girls that he met went onto great things, but he was never close enough to any of those friends that that greatness spilled over into his own life. He was average looking, of course, and he had average looking girlfriends, who didn’t let him get past second base for the longest time. He lost his virginity in college, where somehow the underwear flies off freely. (It must be some sort of magic.) He met the girl he was going to marry in college, definitely not unheard of. Though they lived together a couple years after they graduated to be on the safe side. He was gainfully employed from the time he got out because he had been a summer intern at the place where he was hired. There he met some work friends who for some reason didn’t feel as special than the ones he met in school. His first child was born before he was thirty, the second before he was thirty-five. A boy and a girl, of course. His job was a good one, he progressed up the ladder at a regular rate. The children grew up and he wondered where the time goes. He loved a lot, he hated some. He knew the meaning of the word, “home”. The children grew up and found lives for themselves, and he grew old with his wife beside him, living in the house they had bought all those years ago. He lived a completely ordinary life, the years all having gone by at a rate of an hour per hour, a mile per mile. And then, lying there with his loved ones all around, he closed his eyes for the last time… amazed at it all.
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