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
The world cannot be saved, not in any spiritual or religious way. It doesn't need salvation, resting as always in absolute perfection, the world and it's wonders are beyond any human ideas. The world cannot be saved, but we shall, misguidedly proceed on a pilgrim's journey to redeem what gives us base. Like some retired, first grade teacher whose pedagogical insights fail when applied to adult life and the real world, no ritual, no march or riot will make what is any better. The world cannot be saved, in another sense still, by new age fancy, gender-based empowerment, or deconstructive stratagem. The world clings to all it contains, so nothing is better than anything else if it has been deemed fit to be. The world cannot be saved, not stored up or hamstered away, no investment for the future can invest anything with more value than the world already has. So let us not save the world, better to run from it.
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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