[profile temporarily utilized for space]
“…Now for 10 years we’ve been on our own…”
One Monday in September everything changes.
“…A voice that came from you and me…”
My greatest fear is that the same thing that happened to me would happen to you, that as I crashed you would fall.
The fear is unfounded. You are strong, stronger than I am.
“…The courtroom was adjourned…”
I can’t go back. Independence is always important, but now it is everything I could have. I shun what I cannot do, until I only need what I can.
“…No verdict was returned…”
I’m still not completely sure what caused the beginning, nor the end. I’m honestly not sure what help you were. But for trying most genuinely, I thank you.
“…And we sang dirges in the dark…”
No one else can understand, no one else can hear. Mourning for a lost life leads to lyrics of madness. There is finally found independence- but the price is isolation.
“…Bye-bye, Miss American Pie... ”
9/28/08
[profile temporarily utilized for space]
“A long, long time ago / I can still remember / How that music used to make me smile…”
Once I lived a life and heard a song, and kept coming back to where I had been captivated by it. I learned its lyrics and taught them, finding meaning and poetry, and hidden meaning, and discovery, and a clever crescendo, epic and grand and unique. I found harmony, and it was pleasing.
“…I knew if I had my chance / That I could make those people dance…”
Ideas brewed in my head. I had a story to tell, but I didn’t yet understand it. In the meantime, characters and stories evolved without my control. Laslo Bleem was born.
“…I couldn’t take one more step…”
I had what I wanted, I was who I wanted, I did what I wanted. I had found my limit, within which things were perfect, and I was rising, like the sea seen arising endlessly over an endless horizon.
“…I can’t remember if I cried…”
I regretted the elm tree I didn’t climb, the roads not wandered, the heartfelt missive whose reply came after the moment passed. When did numbness cease, and pain awaken?
“…Well, I know that you’re in love…”
I once knew a girl who had flowing blonde hair and a light lilting laugh, who read Calvin & Hobbes, spoke Latin, sang Lobachevsky, appreciated poetry; who constructed abstract sculptures from discarded disks, who perched on rooftops, who ran in the autumn rain; who named herself after a Greek letter and a mathematical constant. She was Phi, she was perfect.
I never had a chance with her. I never will.
“…Bye-bye, Miss American Pie...”
“A long, long time ago / I can still remember / How that music used to make me smile…”
Once I lived a life and heard a song, and kept coming back to where I had been captivated by it. I learned its lyrics and taught them, finding meaning and poetry, and hidden meaning, and discovery, and a clever crescendo, epic and grand and unique. I found harmony, and it was pleasing.
“…I knew if I had my chance / That I could make those people dance…”
Ideas brewed in my head. I had a story to tell, but I didn’t yet understand it. In the meantime, characters and stories evolved without my control. Laslo Bleem was born.
“…I couldn’t take one more step…”
I had what I wanted, I was who I wanted, I did what I wanted. I had found my limit, within which things were perfect, and I was rising, like the sea seen arising endlessly over an endless horizon.
“…I can’t remember if I cried…”
I regretted the elm tree I didn’t climb, the roads not wandered, the heartfelt missive whose reply came after the moment passed. When did numbness cease, and pain awaken?
“…Well, I know that you’re in love…”
I once knew a girl who had flowing blonde hair and a light lilting laugh, who read Calvin & Hobbes, spoke Latin, sang Lobachevsky, appreciated poetry; who constructed abstract sculptures from discarded disks, who perched on rooftops, who ran in the autumn rain; who named herself after a Greek letter and a mathematical constant. She was Phi, she was perfect.
I never had a chance with her. I never will.
“…Bye-bye, Miss American Pie...”
9/27/08
“I was convinced an Obama/McCain campaign would be measurably different on almost all standards. And to watch it become Bush/Kerry, Bush/Gore, has been one of the most dissatisfying experiences.”
“That means it's not an Obama/McCain campaign. It's a Guys Who Work for Bush/Guys Who Work for Kerry campaign.”
The hardest part of any party is the planning.
“Partisan politics saps all the productivity out of debate.”
Partisan politics saps all the productivity out of production.
“That means it's not an Obama/McCain campaign. It's a Guys Who Work for Bush/Guys Who Work for Kerry campaign.”
The hardest part of any party is the planning.
“Partisan politics saps all the productivity out of debate.”
Partisan politics saps all the productivity out of production.
9/25/08
9/24/08
“Some people will not tolerate such emotional honesty in communication. They would rather defend their dishonesty on the grounds that it might hurt others. Therefore, having rationalized their phoniness into nobility, they settle for superficial relationships.”
The question is not whether you would prefer I assent to your idea or say what I honestly feel, but what I do.
“Is it emotionally dishonest to then, instead of speaking, say nothing at all?”
“The cruelest lies are often told in silence.”
The question is not whether you would prefer I assent to your idea or say what I honestly feel, but what I do.
“Is it emotionally dishonest to then, instead of speaking, say nothing at all?”
“The cruelest lies are often told in silence.”
9/23/08
9/21/08
“Strumming my pain…”
Some things are bitter, fomenting up what surprisingly should have been expected, with a resonating distaste being brewed.
“…I heard he had a style / And so I came to see him to listen…”
Some things are sweet, heralding a day and a year and a lifetime in which a resonating joy can be exquisitely basked in, with sparkling eyes, akin minds, and a cool breeze on the cusp of summer and autumn.
“…Telling my whole life with his words…”
I need you to know this, that I know how special you are, that I trust you more than anyone else, more than I deserve. It’s not just that you’ve grown up; it’s that you enabled me to.
“…You guys sound great, awesome…”
Some things are bitter, fomenting up what surprisingly should have been expected, with a resonating distaste being brewed.
“…I heard he had a style / And so I came to see him to listen…”
Some things are sweet, heralding a day and a year and a lifetime in which a resonating joy can be exquisitely basked in, with sparkling eyes, akin minds, and a cool breeze on the cusp of summer and autumn.
“…Telling my whole life with his words…”
I need you to know this, that I know how special you are, that I trust you more than anyone else, more than I deserve. It’s not just that you’ve grown up; it’s that you enabled me to.
“…You guys sound great, awesome…”
9/20/08
9/19/08
9/16/08
9/15/08
9/14/08
9/13/08
“My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why / I got out…”
Appreciation is the presence of an absence of a presence. It acknowledges that something is done which might not be done, something which another might not do, something that need not be acknowledged but is. For everyone has a choice for how they spend their time. The thankless task gets done because the doer enjoys it, not because of any degree of gratitude. It should be enough to receive satisfaction from oneself, from how the time was used; but when instead dissatisfaction turns to despair, with time not being spent how one would want, there can be a restoration by merely not not doing something.
“…And I want to thank you…”
Appreciation is the presence of an absence of a presence. It acknowledges that something is done which might not be done, something which another might not do, something that need not be acknowledged but is. For everyone has a choice for how they spend their time. The thankless task gets done because the doer enjoys it, not because of any degree of gratitude. It should be enough to receive satisfaction from oneself, from how the time was used; but when instead dissatisfaction turns to despair, with time not being spent how one would want, there can be a restoration by merely not not doing something.
“…And I want to thank you…”
9/12/08
9/10/08
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)