Friday, November 11, 2005

stream: sweet clean scene, tomorrow, spray shine that spot until the slate is clean. hush the dream is still not over. i said, i said, did you hear me say it? well. i did. and i can't take it back. don't send me the remnants of questions about the things you can't have because i don't have them anymore. and if i did, i still wouldn't. because you can't ever. 7 years i wandered if you would be who i think that you are now. maybe that makes me right, in my own isolated realm. the people. the people are not so bad as i imagined. we all want a thing, mostly the same kind of thing. a feeling really, or a sense of being. i've argued myself to the end of each pole. but the spectrum is a sphere. you just can't see the rest you know. all thing with meaning are completely round. God did business with devil concerning His friend Job. it all comes back and meets somewhere. like in Lewis's "Divorce," time is only a viewfinder for reality. understanding is a flimsy set of binoculars for Truth. sad, flimsy little things , indeed. and generally we are looking through them the wrong way anyway. there were some unfortunate prayers muttered in lost innocence. to go deeper into it all. not money or fame or any functional talent- just a widened, heavier, more far-reaching sense of Truth. what inanity my story houses, what neuroses incurred. don't in your evan walker crooked world. don't act like you know a girl. every hack of the axe creates a new facet, a new plane, a new dimension. and the axe finds me, opens it more and exposes yet more writhing, squalling, new world opening into the stillsmall real.

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