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| Numbers Redux | 12:45am wednesday, 8th september |
The numbers still come at me. I try not to use them as an oracle, but it is an ongoing struggle. They are only visions of a madman, after all. I see the numbers every day, every hour, marking the paths of people on my websites, in the figures of the Dow-Jones, the price of gold, in the digital clocks that tell the minute. Not all of them have interpretations, but at one time it seemed that most of them did. I have stepped back from that point, at least, and I have tried not to let my mind put a pattern to the randomness that it most probably is, but it is not easy. The mind is used to leaping to conclusions when it has worn a groove in that direction. There is purpose to everything, true, but it is mercy that God lets us not see behind every curtain. Therein, madness doth surely dwell.
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| sorrow | 11:46pm saturday, 4th september |
why is it that the eye which tragedy touched be beautiful?
it is the sad story the one that most holds us in its spell
we cry because we cannot hold it all inside us, such the woe
thousands of trivial decisions, then one to heartbreak...
the house of wisdom is known to be a house of mourning
it must be so that sorrow is necessary food for the soul
though we would rather starve, depth prepares the feast
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| Fences | 2:22am tuesday, 31st august |
We ride past the fences that keep out what we have lost, so the fences haunt us. We forget the things that gave us so much joy, because we take these for granted. And years go by like strangers we never got to know. To think that somehow, it can all come together, as if destiny cast you the part you were playing, all along. As in the flickering of the last candle before dawn, we can exhale the hope, so do our senses remind us that we are alive for some purpose even our deepest love cannot hold. And then we feel some things were promised us. But for all that is broken with the world, and all the missed chances that will never come again, the feeling: we might be right.
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| stream | 12:47am friday, 27th august |
there in the dreaming was the line of my life, like a stream
not to see where it disappeared to, at the end, where waters flow
understanding why so that we must have faith, to look beyond
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| inconsequential | 4:40am monday, 23rd august |
i am strangely disconnected from the world of things and people
not a thing i do does anything, all my talk is chatter that dissipates
shall i be forced to be a hero without a name? in living, or dying?
(the theme that plays in all my backdrops speaks deep of nothing)
wherein the dreaming of which, the thing never existed but there
in dark of sleep, no place to lay my things so they don’t disappear
for things forgotten never were, except the scars they left behind
(hidden behind all meanings is a shifting sand in which they root)
to discover i am bleeding time where the wit of others has cut me
for i obsess about all of the inconsequential things life is made of
and i have drunk so deep of its marrow now everything is shallow
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| Age | 12:30am thursday, 19th august |
There was a point when I looked at my face in the mirror of a dimly lit room and saw an old man look back at me. Well, oldish. Is this really me? My dad had had me and my brother by now, and had immigrated to a completely foreign country. And bought a house. It almost looked like him, the face in the mirror, but oh, so different, our paths went, him and me. We had different sins, I guess you could say. I suppose I’ll find my way to something like he had, the wife & kids kind of deal, but the way I’ve been going to that sort of happy ending speaks of different times, different worlds. I have not yet become an old man, but the hints of it are plain. I still recall my high school Shakespeare teacher tell me carpe diem, and its lesser known sequel, memento more: seize the day, remember your end. This was that moment, looking into the glass, where the idea finally would be plain. The day is here, do your best with it, remember that you, like everyone, will die. The face in the mirror: at least I can say that I recognize myself. That’s a step in the right direction.
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| took the sky | 12:01am sunday, 15th august |
they took the sky, and the sky was on fire
it rained smoke in rivers of molten ashes
there will never be day again, never none
for all that is becomes kindling in finality
no, it was not the numbers, the end of us
but that the dream of the world awakens
then every missed chance, opportunities
echo into oblivion, in the judgment wind
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| Found Somewhere | 1:57am wednesday, 11th august |
There is an old Hassidic tale in which a rabbi asks his pupils how they could tell when the night ends and day begins.
“Could it be,” one of his students asked, “when you see an animal in the distance and can tell whether it is a sheep or a dog? "No,” answered the rabbi.
Another student asked, “Is it when you look at a tree in the distance and can tell whether it is a fig tree or a peach tree?” “No,” the rabbi patiently replied.
“Tell us then,” the students asked, “when does night end and day begin?”
The rabbi replied, “It is when you can look on the face of any man or woman and see that it is the face of your sister or your brother. If you cannot see this, it is still night.”
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| Women | 5:20am saturday, 7th august |
Well, I’m back in New York. The vacation was good, though I guess I couldn’t call it awesome. Good seeing my best friend in Korea there, in Hong Kong and Singapore, but the whole thing was just about getting away from it all for a couple weeks. Mission accomplished. My friend had a friend in Singapore who was female and was describing about her dysfunctional love life. Also there met a friend of my brother’s, who took me to a red light district club. And I explained that I like the women, but I’m not into paying for it. The ex-girlfriend from a while back visited my blog while I was there; yes, I can tell when it’s her. And right now, am thinking of a Russian model who is like falling into my lap. But there is much opportunity for screwing that up somewhere. But hey, my luggage wasn’t lost, and I don’t think I left anything several thousand miles away. Count your blessings.
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| whispers | 1:56am saturday, 24th july |
frail whispers brush by my wondering
here is the breathing of the light, a caress
a dream was never so weightless as my soul
for you are underneath the same starlit sky
and i can feel your heart beat within my own
and my imagination listens to your laugh
to send you in the dawn’s sunbeam a caress
to return the whispers i heard in dreaming
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| Doing | 12:28am tuesday, 20th july |
Midnight, and I have done all I need do for the day. Late sleeper, I have several hours to do as I please. Music is what usually fills most of it, and even with nothing that presses me, I am still in front of a monitor, living my other life in the digital realms. At times I will lie in my bed and read, usually something to do with religion, sometimes an old graphic novel that I should have read when it came out, years or decades ago. The television will find The Simpsons if it is on, otherwise, sometimes the science show, or music videos. I may drink vodka mixed with Orangina, the “house drink” here in this apartment. Or maybe some good cheap wine. Work sometimes intrudes, with the mind for some reason racing with ideas, that I must put down on paper. But usually, I am serene. Maybe to write a poem. Life is good, even if I do not have all that I would like. But I have great ambition, so I should be thankful for what is in my life. Love it all.
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