...like day's first miss....
This is no big thing; really missing someone is bigger...I miss this child.
...a thought abut the brink of scroll...
Many writers know that hurried moment in which we scrawl down a
thought that has energetically shaken us...quick before you
forget it...stop everything, the train, noise, just get it down
before it is gone...don't trust your memory...or all is lost.
..expanse so taking...
ever see a new country...the country from the air...the
wilderness from a height...the endless sky when it is doing
something beautiful, or throwing things...it takes you and leaves
you with the feeling of only one last breath within.
...The ever embryol universe...
I loved this line...this thought so much I created a whole short
story around it...it is one of my longest stories and one of my
most beautiful...there is nothing more lovely to me than the
night with sky...I am taken with it's far beauty and when I am
late arriving home I stand at the door of my car in the quiet
apartment jungle and gaze for reality a long time...The universe
displays so many wonders that reveal to me what physics has
to share...the shear terror in the numbers in this complex
embryo keep me humble and learning and teaching.
...the cruel of death...
and death will stop this--for me anyway. I will be very sad
indeed when mine is all over...I will miss it, the way it was at
the times of my life while I was running through it, or counting
silly things such as stars in a photograph of the Megallanic
Clouds, or disputing with Isaac Asimov about the reachableness
of the number 10 to the 600th power
(I was very small in my apology years later when I grew up...)
...Time's tearing of you and I...
Time is integral to distance...just maybe...but surely it tears--up and
down my senses...walking close to me and making me think you are near,
are coming, or did you already arrive and did I miss you by
getting there late...it's many tearings come in the form of a
thousand questions...what is she doing now, is it too late to
call them, what will they ask me next...and more.
...I am light's missing...
Glass slows down light significantly when it passes through it
(by about 20,000 or 30,000 miles per second slower than 186,000)
but even that is not enough for a capture or even a 'that's a
wrap'...am I always going to miss the good lives I so loved to
have beside me, because of something I am--glass matter-- instead
of a rock star or some other macho material...Yes, I am as
sensitive as glass, and I desire to hide little, yet ba man.
...My mother's passing...
My mother's death was hardest for me...I wept openly in her
house...I wrote a dozen poems...started composing a
Requiem...more than I did for my father when he passed--much more
than I did for my beloved father...She was woman and there is
nothing much more valuable than the things our counterpart
do for life...I became my mother's passing and for some time I paraded
myself around in front of my siblings as such...and even now her beauty is
remembered.
...The night in a dark grey eye...
So much here, so much within the eye--it holds a wonderment I am
only beginning to measure...there are no starswarms within that
night: it is "A missing"...but there is an openness going on when it
orbs wide, and firmness a foot when day-scenes can be seen on its
pupil...yet all my life here I am looking into people's souls
looking for something resembling myself to love...and missing it...
...Wet tread grass...
I am a child again and it is early fall morning and someone has
tread on our grass and I have missed them...someone I could have
walked to school with, or someone to play with...but someone not
there anymore...I feel, even now, my screaming just to have known them...
...I speak of you and time peels...
Time makes itself noticeable by doing something normally it can't
do...make noise. It is so noisy that I hear bells or a loud
horrendous heavy clanging--I recognize it as something familiar,
close to me, and something loved deeply...It is the very grave
(pronounced: grah-v) beginning of Beethoven's fifth: four notes
(the four rhythms I hear) repeated three times before he goes on
with his first movement.
...And soaked in these throbs...
Music soaks and saturates me, soaks me like the times we sprayed water
on grass in summer and screamed and carried water-heavy shirts
around as we played...music is that time for me...I am heavily
moved by the great classics...am soaked and weighed down by them
with a debt of gratitude that is no trouble to repay, but is as
easy as thumbing a cassette into a car system and thanking God
or Beethoven...or Chopin or Ravel...or Myself...
...every grip of my heart...
I deal with life attainment in short almost unnoticed
grasp...like heart in motion, I suck in a little sharing, a
little bit of plant wonder, a small fact of life in a pond and
then squeeze it out again circulating what stays through my being and then
some time later run it back through myself again before pushing
it up as a "Black Song on White Pages" to give the rest of the world
an explanation of my high...
Just think the heart in an average lifetime beats about a half a
billion times...'In my long hope', I would like to experience half
a billion wonders, thoughts, or events and take time to build on
them.
...every legality of kindness...
Kindness is legal and please let us all remember
it...but...kindness shows us many legal qualities if we would
look and learn while we are doing it and when others perform
it...I have been looking for many years and it has become a very
treasured play for me to perform...I hope there are people in the
theatre (and as an addendum, I thank the many others who have
shown me kindness--for you see--I have been in their theatres as
well...
...I am drawn near...
So with these two attitudes, one of gripping and squeezing new
and wonderful thoughts that tend toward life, and the other of
seeking to establish the right of kindness in the world--I am
drawn to you, looking forward to seeing you, longing for your
presence...
...fixed to your Everlove...
longing for your presence and fixed to your Everlove (the way you
love me, care for me, befriend me)...I could and should always
remain bonded to the evidences of the way you have cared for
me...remembering these things in times of 'dungeons' do hold me
up...and better than any escape drug.
...naked to your maiden mind...
The special way a young person thinks...there is a purity in
youth and sincerity and naivete in a young open mind...the willingness
to learn is high and the desire to attain and recirculate pulses as thickly
as the punching of one's heart...I am before you bare and willing myself, hiding few.
...But missing you...
But still the distance is there between us...my missing--not
yours--and to me it is described in no higher visible terms than:
...like the cool drying tears upon a battered face...
There is nothing which makes me angrier than to see someone hurt
another...even more palpitating for my anger: when a woman or child is
beaten...there is no glue to my thoughts during these moments...for I have
found every face beautiful during my 250,000,000 heart beats.