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home6:39am wednesday, 10th december
i have wandered where light flew like feathers
where wind is cold as glass
the edge of the world is the path we walk
i have found, the meaning of which whispers
did i dream that the world would begin?
that i were in the prototype of existence
messy, brilliant, full of electricity
and dreams the imagining of gravity
to fly like a hero in tights
i thought to follow, and to lead
through the maze that is love, endless
i found myself where i thought to struggle
for winter breezes to freeze me
and out of the breath of time
i discovered that i had never been lost
the illusion? merely the fear
and then i had gone higher than the dream
nothing but the fluttering of light
finally within the promise of home

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knowing3:28pm monday, 1st december
this is a poem that is not a poem
these words are not words
you imagine you see what makes sense
but a thousand mysteries walk by
some that tap you on the shoulder
telling you the message
that there is no message
and you see them go
on the path that is not a path
for you will truly know nothing
not knowing that there is nothing to know

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Machine Love4:04am friday, 28th november
I thought of how a machine might love. Like a flurry of processes all relating to one subject, which they all flutter around, and are about, and which the concentration of its processing power cannot seem to have enough of this subject, that which courses through its mechanical synapses. And I wonder if that feeling of love that we have — if the machine did not feel it like we do, couldn’t it still be love? For is it not really that the feeling of love is the least of it, in these final analyses? For I cannot imagine that all that love is is a feeling that one is in love — like I imagine that it is as an incandescent light, which gives off light and warmth, and the light is the point, and if one felt not the warmth of it, the point would still be there. And I imagine that the machine who could love, that he might feel something completely different, completely alien to what we do. Yet in my believing, love is love, and love would still be love, even among such aliens: that a heart can come in any shape.
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snow7:22pm thursday, 20th november
the sign that is not a sign
a muted and ordinary hiccup of fate
(in perfect alignment, the stars begin to fall)
visions just outside my peripheral optics
where destiny builds the instants
(there is no conspiracy, but the madness is real)
a past that tips off the edge of memory
the void holds secrets perfectly
(and here i am at the end, and snow is everywhere)

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Continuing6:28am tuesday, 18th november
If you read carefully, Genesis said that the Earth was formless and void, and what I found that this meant was that before all things existed was a primordial chaos. To the Babylonians, this was symbolized by the monster Tiamat. In the Old Testament, the beast of that chaos was named Rahab. In the old myths, the progenitor god slays the beast of the chaos and from the body is formed the world that is. We can see that myths themselves change, but there seems to be a deep memory that we share of the old things of the world.
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New Beginning7:34am sunday, 9th november
What was before this? What was before the beginning? It comes not at first thought—we usually focus on what is presented, from the beginning on. But upon the introspection, we wonder what happened before it all happened. We find even before the original beginning, in fact, before “In the beginning,” it turns out there was not nothing, not even way back there; not empty was the void at all—not completely. I had thought that, too, you know, that it was creation ex nihilo: out of nothing. When I did hear what had been there, it opened some doors of thought, what such circumstance might have spelled.
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notes4:52am 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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Standland9:01am 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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beware4:59pm 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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memories11:46pm 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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distant5:40pm monday, 29th september
i sense love distant
like the thaw of snow melt trickles
high in the mountain morn
i am found: this is love
upon the precipice of a dream
the child of stars crossing
the light undying
i am a sentinel of fortune
as dreams ascend with the dawn
made of earth and heaven
and a quiet to wash me white
snow everywhere
i walk through the memories of places
by candlelight flickering lonely
imaginary the distances
the song of myself inhales
i have not come to slip through cracks
light has pierced my eyes
destiny lingers
death weary of my meddling
the mirror knows me, so says his eyes
death chokes on confetti
for am i won from darkness
what flows through every last thing
i kiss hello
sometimes the wind calls me by name
small as i am, but cozy
i have measured the sky with my hands
and beyond, my third home
as i tease the threads of fate
the candle which lasted the storm
we blow out the flame, for dawn is here

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