Friday, February 15, 2013

Ready To Admit It

You aim away from "supposable." My word. Slipping on the ice, going farther than usual, soft clouds drifting upward through the trees a comfort.

In my dreams, both students and teachers, and clarity on the artificiality of most social engagement. In prayer, one sees the futility of the brain, and the possibility of putting it to the side. We are not what we eat.

For you, this sentence, shared with me. One avoids the library in order to defamiliarize familiar texts. I don't ever want to talk about my father.

Resistance to order somewhat undone by numbered paragraphs. In the sphere of real attention, we are neither ugly nor beautiful. A thin layer of ice wrinkled by passing breezes.

Well, we are all going all along, it's only a question of time. Nobody "fits" but not everybody is ready to admit it. One is forever following a sloping road, one is forever working to accept it's just a dream.

Be aware of what flows, aware of what hinders, and direct your energies thuswise. Remember that used bookstore in Boston, kissing in the far corner, so happy to be so far away from home but together? Tea, not coffee, was the mode.

There are themes in the human face and we never quite escape them. As this beckons, that necessarily follows.

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