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 Awake sleep insomnia the quiet of the night, deepest slumber denied but still I dream but the dream becomes words in sequence like passing seconds that mark my solitude the veil, dark, covers the land the wind, strong scours the trees the sleep that evades me the day that starts before the others even waken and after so many years after so many meetings in front of this screen my lack of sleep is not a lack of rest but a nap, waiting to happen and waiting is what insomnia teaches  
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Death is an asshole

My head is confused, my emotions are subtle and nearly flat. I don’t really know how to go, so I go as I always have...with perseverance and faith, inconstancy and doubt. I write that and ponder how one death, albeit the most important death other than my own, can make of an entire world an alien universe? I have survived nearly 18 months of grueling grief. Had I been asked to choose between this and running a weekly barefooted marathon on broken glass, I would have chosen the latter. But there was no choice, Death is an asshole that way, just shits on you and walks away. But thank you, really, Death. You exposed yourself for the fraud you are. You dare to take their carrion flesh, corpses are your trophies. I shit back at you. Stinking Death. Nothing you do takes the Love. NOTHING. That is exactly what you think you leave us with. Nothing. But you are so jaded, having killed so many and most without even a thought for how loved they ...
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grove, to have grieved

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...sitting here typing my emotions onto this virtual page as if the feelings will  either disappear in this torrent of words or become permanent by having been revealed and published, publicized, civilized, brought out into daylight...grappling with grief again, not the heavy sadness but the seriously numbing variety that reveals the acceptance of the tragic as just the new norm of the new rhythm of a new quotidian reality. Acceptance is good. It is factual, true, it reveals how things are and spotlights what we face in desire; what we want to be and what cannot be. The gulf between feeling and knowledge. The winds and storms of emotion rage above the solid landscape below. I walk in the landscape, being a farmer and not a bird. But my emotions would gladly wing away to her soul's side and give up this mantle, while my body in his sad realism will keep wandering the paths that lead to work and the loss of self that will mask her absence...
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