Roots

The axioms of our universe of discourse.

The only things we can cling to.

Strange, that locating them should always be a retrospective exercise.

We cannot know who we are till we know who we are:

Does that qualify as a Paradox?

Double-Back

No matter how fervently you love him, and no matter how patiently you persevere; however divinely forgiving of errors and sweetly indulgent you may be of him - 

your dog will never learn Boolean Algebra.

Now that you have accepted this, perhaps it is time to reconsider love.

Is not his drool just a little bit annoying? Does not his stoic stupidity (sometimes) push you just a little closer to cracking your ribs?

Silence is only profound to those who choose to think.

sweet and heady

like my love

burying body; birthing brain

Embracing/Defacing Greatness:

Defined by those sudden, condensed, singularly disembowelling moments, where you must discern between - Friends and Equals.

Defined by the hitherto unknown, palpable absence of vagrancy, confusion, dithering of any kind - except that borne out of this very state of unusual resoluteness.

Defined - sadly - by the rising degrees of tedium that mark every passing act of Kindness. As opposed to acts allegiant to the Intellect. How will the yielding heart and the precision-drill mind reconcile?

Ach. Growing pains. I need Father Bhaer.

So perhaps 19 is a little too early to expect Nirvaana.

:)

excuse me, i'm in the wrong room.

I sprint through the world blindly with family-shaped stencil in hand.

Cutting out all excesses, misfits, everything. Of course, nothing except grotesque remains.

Can you imagine trying to grate slate?

Back home I squint through my worldly-wise eyeglass.

The kind that magnifies all exceptions, variations, gradients. Of course, I am never content.

Can you imagine what a rose looks like under a microscope?

symbols, numbers and other neuroses

When you turn brackets inside out they include the universe and exclude perhaps only, you. Throw in an equals sign and this is set right again. )=(

Wise, watery Neptune knows this, of course. That you are but everything you forbid yourself and even your walls (perhaps a little traitorous) are the same.

Just another white spark to justify the entire dreary afternoon on a seven-seven (allow yourself a giggle).

Today when you stammered and I asked sorry, what? and you flicked it with three fewer (and therefore less guilty) syllables it dawned.

You were trying to be more accessible. This perverse compulsion to arrest yourself without reason (when is there reason?) was not my albatross alone.


The things we do to make those we love feel safe. And adequate.

not exactly Jung

The Victim? Too haughty.
The Queen? Fell.
The Clown? Too dry.
The Satirist? Hope too desperately.
Blonde (but sweet)? Spell too well.
The lithe Fool? See through too much.
The Hermit? Love too hard.
Angel? Too much rage.
The concerned Representative? Deathly reticent.
The Wallflowers, then? Not enough.
Speak? Why?
Shut Up? Fume too much, still.
Fly? Fear of falling, remember?
Stay-at-home Mom? Too little content.
So you're Wilde? I'm Earnest.
Blyton? Too controversial.

What's left to be? Sensible.