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| july 2006 |
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| fast | 2:22am friday, 28th july |
all you see are ghosts when you go that fast like wildfire in one sweeping hand, in some huge magic trick that went wrong this is different how it might be that i came to the point here, where you begin, as far as the eye can see or i blinked, and it’s 5am breathless awake five years later it was like it happened yesterday i hope i never catch my breath, for i fear that i would never let it go death made accidents like that you never saw it coming, and suddenly nothing has happened in centuries not like that i think, so i consider myself a luxury running to catch up to yourself where did you go to find yourself so lost? nowhere everywhere? everything in motion, therefore i am but there you were, kicking yourself for seeing the point traveler who crawled there you caught wind of something just now, eons of it don’t forget to write as you go and consider that destiny only gave you bullet points they’re all real, even if they fade away nothing came by chance even the best things had to happen
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| Rush | 12:19am monday, 24th july |
I have tried to keep to the quiet places. I have shunned the full blast of the open sunlight, to keep only to when the light shies away toward twilight. Part of it is that I was told by larger voices that there is a choice you can make, that you can keep to the rapid and loud, or that you may choose instead where the flow of the world stills into a tranquil hush. And it seemed to me that the latter was what I was to try and do, to live like unto a way of zen, and not to light my candle at both ends, however lovely a light that might shine, however much I had before all my troubles started thought of myself that I could handle maximum speed on the fast lane. But perhaps it is time to re-examine the course that I have been traveling; perhaps it was that the manner of my traveling was what was not to be followed, that I am ready again to enter the full stream.
It is a thrill, to be sure, that such a velocity will bring to the senses; although I am not yet in the full blast, I hover around the edge of the speed, sniff the rushing current, and consider what it might be that I would be asking of myself if I were to leap inside. For the last time I thought I could go faster than its quickness, it was, to use the pop culture metaphor, it was through the easy path of the dark side of the force. Sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll, the old spell, and I did not consider that it would overrun me, which it did. Now, instead of such a reckless and headlong dive, I come through the light side: work, work, and more work. Patience, effort, thought: I have kept to the good, and I did not take the easy way this time. I need only now the courage that I can make it, suddenly into the current, to swim for my life. For to halfway enter is to miss it all. All or none.
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| R'lyeh | 1:08am thursday, 20th july |
"ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn"
"In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming" 
Click on this to get a larger version. Actually, it's a painting called "Light in August" by Willem de Kooning, but it just so looked like what R'lyeh I imagined it to be.
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| But Maybe... | 2:40am monday, 17th july |
I feel as if at any moment something could happen. As if out of nowhere, anything could pop up, and change everything forever. Maybe it's because I'm in New York, or maybe I'm sensing whatever it is of the anima mundi, which itself knows where the hand of fates directs the courses of these, our streams of being. And God help me, I'm beginning to feel as I'm going to make it — not just survive in this ordinary world, but actually make something of myself. Make a name for myself, and all that. I really can't say what it is that I'm expecting to happen; maybe this is what it is meant by, to expect the unexpected. Like there is a charge in the air, and down to my fingertips, I am aware of the electricity. Who knows? Maybe it is nothing. Maybe this will pass, and I will wonder why I got so excited. But maybe...
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| The Question | 12:52am friday, 14th july |
There’s that alternate ending to my life I steer toward,
Because I have never thought that these days should be ordinary:
To be or not to be was never the question — but “Why not?”
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| Calling? | 1:48am tuesday, 11th july |
I have been doing a lot of thinking. And been very tired, mostly. On one of my trips to Philadelphia, my father remarked that I might want to start my own business; and that got me thinking. And thinking. He said, “Oh, but you’re not ready yet, right?” And I answered, instead of my usual that I wasn’t, that, “No, I have some ideas.” For after 5 years of research, and filling up 2 ½ very thick notebooks with wild scribblings, I am actually at a point where I can build some physical thing (in the electronic sense, that is, or rather, you know — code). Before this, I was thinking about the promise I made to the Higher that I would give away all my best ideas, that I would make everything open source. And then, when I was dating that girl, thought about how I was going to support a family, and that maybe trying to make money from my ideas was not such a bad idea, but this thinking now, I may have found a compromise.
It’s going to be an open source company, but I’ll make some commercial concessions, like a commercial version with more bells and whistles, or support contracts. Other companies have done this before, though of course, not that many have been successful. But you know, it’s like that with almost every new venture, I would guess. Anyway, this would be a way to do what I have been doing for free for (once again) 5 years, and basically not have to work another day in my life — metaphorically, you know, since I’d be doing what I am inspired to anyway. I never could have predicted that I’d go in this direction, that I would make things happen this way, and let things happen to me this way, too: to make something truly new, as I have always wanted to do, and if all goes as well as I think they may… quietly to change the world.
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| face of light | 5:50am friday, 7th july |
darkness in the face of light
the world turns on the news
forgets the idea; seize the show
these fleeting, incomplete senses
all that uncollected life randomly forgets
randomly remembers little
things that spoke to us through the wall
thrown against the back of action
we knew how when we knew nothing
what was it we had when
we lived, knew why because it was unasked
through imagination flew
and understood what it was without
knowing because it’s too much
to keep all of it in pretty color coded values
now in the surrounding inner spaces
wires did we mean to carry
all the things we found in reflection
throughput hearts and electricity
even love picked up on radar
but even lightning is corruptible
a fall from heaven, eternity into time
though in one hour the sky dark with sins
the mote in That eye huge
asked why, why, even if he knew
i am what i am, tell them
because the news is still happening
that one hour death misunderstood
darkness in the face of light
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| Something, Anything | 7:32pm monday, 3rd july |
There seem to be so many little annoyances that can be cured through chemistry, by the drug commercials I see on TV. This is what people spend their money on. Erectile disfunction, periods that last too long, restless leg syndrome. Egad. People dying all over the world by starvation, but this is no longer news. There was so much more hoopla that a racehorse had broken its leg. Such are the priorities of this pop culture, it would appear. And I am guilty, too, skipping the headlines that read like little reruns of the atrocities of man against man. Writing little paragraphs like shavings of wit no one will pick up. Instead of doing something about any of it. Not really even complaining.
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| Memory | 5:55am saturday, 1st july |
I cannot remember, so it is Shrödinger's cat from the other direction, both alive and dead and uncertain, unless I can bring it to mind — or if not, to remain in that ghost half state forever. Or even worse, that we cannot ever know even what two states it hovers between; all there is is the uncertainty, the matter does not even enter into the picture. It must have been something at some point, isn’t it so? Yet it has slipped like a dream upon waking — and that, too, I wonder about. My mind teases me with inclinations to the memory, as if it knows it and is just keeping it from me for its own sadistic satisfaction. But no, we are not enemies, I decide, and there is some third portion, some databank that will not yield. Some door inside me which through the cracks around it hints of light, but I have lost the key, and wonder why it must have been so important to breach it.
I have had it that there were times when I managed to jog my memory loose with what seemed virtually irretrievable, and to tell you the truth, mosttimes it was not really worth the anxiety that the loss exuded. Then there were the rare instances where it was worth it, that the effort yielded its equal in what was retrieved. And now, it seems, since I have this penchant for forgetting, I have learned to get a feel for what it is just that I lost to the bit bucket of cognition: it is because I usually write things down, and if I am truly compelled to do just that, it is self-fulfilling in its saving; and if I merely think I will recall, but do not, I know that perhaps the quality was better than the average thought, but no so much that I forced myself immediately to scrawl it down. I guess that is what I have learned: always carry a little notebook with you. You never know.
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