I dialed your number on the phone yesterday,
Thinkin’ you would answer, and then I remembered.
A conversation we had had not so long ago,
Talkin’ about our love, and why we let it go.
We both agreed the timin’ wasn’t right.
And you said somethin’, I’ll never forget that night.
Some things get lost, some things just disappear,
But not my love for you, I’ll keep that close and near.
Some things just fade like scars and dreams,
I’ve got your heart right here with me.
– Alice Peacock
doom came in a steady voice
thunder stood in its boots and lost its place in the scheme of things
the rain stopped out of shock
day and night scrambled over each other, making excuses to leave
work stopped on the twilight
dawn peeked out of the mountains, whistling as if past a graveyard
what was said cannot be said
what was meant we could not fathom anything could ever mean
not again, once to happen, all
not to be believed, what was before our very eyes, seven skies falling
darkness spilled like blood
we were naked before the whole of creation, the eyes of all knowing
the voice, saying simple things
you, i know; and you i do not; heaven and earth fled from that face
Many people have a very strangely childish notion, that “praying in the name of Christ” means simply the addition of the words “through Jesus Christ our Lord” at the end of their prayers. But depend upon it, they do not by adding these words, or any words, bring it about that their prayers should be in the name of Christ. To pray in the name of Christ means to pray in such a way as represents Christ. The representative always must speak in the spirit and meaning of those for whom he speaks. If Christ is our representative, that must be because He speaks our wishes, or what we ought to make our wishes; and if we are to pray in the name of Christ, that means that we are, however far off, expressing His wishes and intentions.
Will I remember this day only as the time… when there was so much hope, when so much seemed possible? For such times have always happened, as far back as there was time itself, and in my thinking, many of those times have come and passed: when it seemed like anything could happen, and then nothing did. What came of them, what became of those fires, that lit all the senses in their ignitions? I wonder now what shall befall me, what will become of these inspirations — as time relentlessly presses on, does its best to wear down the every mechanism it sets in motion. This is the test of a man, I think: just for a moment to outrace the decay, and taste of that Tree of Life he was denied in Eden. One must decide to do what he can. Make something of hope.
I might as well face the fact that for all the fancy titles I’ve held (well, maybe not that fancy, but “Software Engineer…” hm…), I’m still a hacker at heart. That’s how I started: unstructured, undisciplined, whatever I can throw into it to get it to work, printf’s to debug… a hacker. My life has been a lot like that, and I might think it is no mistake that the two are so related. I’ve never structured these hours that I am waking upon the world like perhaps I should; I’ve never had the discipline in anything, really, that I’ve ever done. And so, right now I may say that I have apollonian desires, but a dionysian heart: to make something that not only is itself organized, but which is to increase the order of the world around it; and yet what I create I do so without real planning. I do not know if I will succeed, with how I go about things; but perhaps if the desire itself is strong enough, the method of achievement is little but the utensils to finish the meal. Whatever gets you through the night.
Time, an upsurge of idealike inklings in dreaming,
statues breathing out the dust of those hands’ original passion,
all returning to the Self that knew no other, and complete.
Light shall pour from the sky, broader than the sunbeams of dawn. The sky itself shall become iridescent, like mother of pearl, or opal, like the air had suddenly turned into a thousand minerals. It shall rain wine, as if heaven had cracked open its most precious vintage, and not a drop was spared from sending down to earth. We shall see the faces of our brothers and sisters all aglow from the reflections of that of love, open treasures from within our beings. I say to you that this will come to pass, and not now do I speak of whatever woe is to come between now and that enchanted time. For it cannot end in senseless finity, however much we have grown used to the idea. Light shall prevail: look within yourself and see that you believe it too, however far into darkness you have traveled. However much you have lost to despair.
Let us pardon those who have wronged us. For that which others scarcely accomplish — I mean the blotting out of their own sins by means of fasting and lamentations, and prayers, and sackcloth and ashes — this it is possible for us easily to effect without sackcloth and ashes and fasting, if only we blot out anger from our heart, and with sincerity forgive those who have wronged us.
She will come when I least suspect, though I suspect all the time. How it’s supposed to happen I have no idea, but that’s the way the best things come to pass, n’est-ce pas? She will be all I dreamed of and more, and nothing like I’d ever expected. Actually, dreams are too hazy to be any good guide to these solidities, and I wonder if anyone can ever have it go that any arrangement of molecules could have such perfect geometries. She will love me. This I have the hardest time believing, though I imagine it is not outside the realm of plausibility — just that, you know, there are so many things she’d have to look past — it’s tantamount to saying she’d have to be blind to see the real me. And I might guess that in the final analysis, that’s what we all want: the impossible, flesh and blood, whispering sweet nothings in our ear.
i exhale fire from where my heart is forged
the iron and irony are surprisingly fragile
though sometimes impenetrable, like some looks
wondering where i lost the time
how many times did i ever love, as i approaches death
a slow trip, to be sure, looking back
or did i already turn into a pillar of salt
messy collisions, supernormal ordinarinesses
wonder have i ever understood more than pretending
what that so infinitely simple means
or is no one contrary to the incomprehensibility
when we all know exactly what no one does
for to look out from these eyes is the only way
believing without realizing, seeing
what we cannot explain when touched
for to look out from these eyes is so very alone
night when the sparks fly, anywhere but here
whose hand it is i cannot say, hammering
forging a thing so precious and forgettable
and i inhale the darkness like drinking soup
somehow to bang it into light, the fire
i wonder how i could have, how i would have, if
if she had only said yes without telling me
and i understood without letting me in on it
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