Astonishingly. ”So, I read poetry. The aforementioned poem is a favorite, as is anything from “The Gift” by Hafiz (don’t surrender your loneliness so quick/let it cut deeper). There is “Letters from Saint Francis” by Joshua Heineman: In love like long rambling walks with no destination – Teach me that language. Run out my weakness on the roads of history stretched out to infinity & still arriving… I will devour anything that says what I seemingly cannot, at least not yet.”
by joshua heineman ( about cb )
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I want to be a tall building, not a man in the street…
to be built for a purpose by a powerful being.
Duration: momentary. Nature: changeable. Perception: dim. Condition of Body: decaying. Soul: spinning around. Fortune: unpredictable. Lasting Fame: uncertain. Sum Up: The body and its parts are a river, the soul a dream and mist, life is warfare and a journey far from home, lasting reputation is oblivion.
( written in traditional [!!] Greek by a Roman emperor )
- Manager (displeased): ... I keep telling him.
- Checkout Woman (annoyed): Who, Lloyd?
- Manager: No, Lloyd was there. That checkout. He'd listen. I don't have these kinds of problems w/him.
- Checkout Woman (laughing, still annoyed): You got it backward. Again.
- Manager: I don't think so.
- Checkout Woman: Yeah, you do. Lloyd was on that line tonight.
- Manager: This checkout?
- Checkout Woman: It was Frank over there. Frank is his own man.
- Manager (pointing): No, no. It goes you, Lloyd, Frank. Right?
- Checkout Woman (pointing): Frank, Lloyd.
- Me: Frank Lloyd Wright!
- Manager: ...
- Checkout Woman: ...
- Me: Can I pay for this stuff?
There are two paths to the extremes of life. One is to run as far as you can from existence, to observe life from the outside. The other is to wrestle with it directly.
The first path keeps you safe from the shit. It also keeps you safe from the bliss. Selah. The second path is drowning in a substance that is indistinguishable from yourself & still (still!) you cannot identify it.