Gone looking for a sign...

At times I feel as if I had lived all this before and that I have already written these very words, but I know it was not I: it was another man, who kept his notebooks so that one day I could use them. I write, he wrote, that memory is fragile and the space of a single life is brief, passing so quickly that we never get a chance to see the relationship between events; we cannot gauge the consequences of our acts, and we believe in the fiction of past, present, and future, but it may also be true that everything happens simultaneously. That's why I write in my notebooks, in order to see things in their true dimension and to defy my own poor memory.

Magic in the air, there ain’t no science here...

Took an oath by blood...

The Road goes ever on and on down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the road has gone, and I must follow, if I can, pursuing it with eager feet, until it joins some larger way, where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say.

Often, beyond the next turning, footfalls of a herd galloping across stone were heard and one's heart beat faster upon advancing a little into the subtle light: one might have said that the path had suddenly become wild, thick with grass, its dark paving-slabs engulfed by nettles, blackthorn and sloe, so that it mingled up time past rather than crossing country-side, and perhaps it was going to issue forth, in moistened down and fresh grass, into one of those glades where animals spoke to men. It was a fossilised path: the will which had cut this gash out of these solitary places so that the blood and sap would flow which was long since dead - and dead too were the circumstances which had guided this will. A whitish and indurated scar remained, gradually gnawed away by the earth like a flesh that heals itself, yet its direction was still vaguely cut into the horizon; a language and crepuscular sign rather than a way forward - a worn-out lifeline which still vegetated through the fallow land as it does on the palm of a hand. 

Rather be the hunter than the prey...

Will you hold the line?

When every one of them is giving up or giving in, 

tell me - in this house of mine?

Nothing ever comes without a consequence or cost, 

tell me - will the stars align?

Will heaven step in? Will it save us from our sin? Will it?

Because this house of mine stands strong.

My price to pay...

Tastes so sweet, looks so real...

You are mistaken, and you know nothing about me, and nothing about the sort of love of which I am capable. Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure still: if you raved, my arms should confine you, and not a strait waistcoat - your grasp, even in fury, would have a charm for me: if you flew at me as wildly as that woman did this morning, I should receive you in an embrace, at least as fond as it would be restrictive. I should not shrink from you with disgust as I did from her: in your quiet moments you should have no watcher and no nurse but me; and I could hang over you with untiring tenderness, though you gave me no smile in return; and never weary of gazing into your eyes, though they had no longer a ray of recognition for me.

The dreams we have, the love we share...

A multitude of emotions...

Since I knew you, I have been troubled by a remorse that I thought would never reproach me again, and have heard whispers from old voices impelling me upward, that I thought were silent for ever. I have had unformed ideas of striving afresh, beginning anew, shaking off sloth and sensuality, and fighting out the abandoned fight. A dream, all a dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves the sleeper where he lay down, but I wish you to know that you inspired it and that meeting you was a memorable day, for it made great changes in me. But it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.

The best of times and the worst of times...

When the morning comes,

when we see what we've become,

in the cold light of day we're a flame in the wind.

Now the fire has begun,

every argument, every word I can't take back,

because with all that has happened,

I think that we all know the way that the story ends.

Faded to black...

There are times to stay put, and what you want will come to you, and there are times to go out into the world and find such a thing for yourself. For you may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. In fact, it may be necessary to encounter the defeats, so you can know who you are, what you can rise from, how you can still come out of it.

It is hard work to control the workings of inclination and turn the bent of nature; but that it may be done, I know from experience. The universe has given us, in a measure, the power to make our own fate: and when our energies seem to demand a sustenance they cannot get - when our will strains after a path we may not follow - we need neither starve from initiation, nor stand still in despair: we have but to seek another nourishment for the mind, as strong as the forbidden fruit it longed to taste - and perhaps purer; and to hew out for the adventurous foot a road as direct and broad as the one Fortune has blocked up against us, if rougher than it.

Bad blood and mistakes...

My tilted stage...

I sometimes react to making a mistake as if I have betrayed myself. My fear seems to be based on the hidden assumption that I am potentially perfect and that if I can just be very careful I will not fall from heaven. But a blunder is a declaration of the way I am, a jolt to the way I intend, a reminder I am not dealing with the facts. When I have listened to my shortcomings I have grown, and I have learned that the past doesn't exist. There is nothing to be sorry for. Today is when we start to live. Look! Look at the sea. The sea has no past. It is just there. It will never ask us to explain. The stars, the moon are there to light our way, to shine for us. What do they care what might have happened long ago? They accompany us, and are happy with that; can you see them shine? The stars are twinkling in the sky; would they do that if yesteryear mattered? Wouldn't there be a huge storm if the universe wanted to punish us? We are alone, you and I, with no past, no memories, no guilt, nothing that can stand in our way.

I'll rise up from the dead...

Nothings lasts forever, we can do better...

Just stop your crying, it's a sign of the times,

welcome to the final show,

hope you're wearing your best clothes.

We never learn, we been here before,

why are we always stuck and running from,

the bullets? The bullets?

Built a fire to keep me warm...

I have decided to stay calm. Despite what my demons are whispering in my ear, and despite what experience has taught me. Maybe I'll be wrong this time, or better yet, right in every single way. Perhaps I don't have to simply dream of a transcendent future, where I have stepped beyond my boundaries, while secretly knowing that it won't ever come true and preparing myself for the worst. What if this time, all those crazy fantasies actually came to be? What if all the hustle and hurdle will actually be worth it in the end? So here goes ... I'm making a pact with myself. I will not obsess in the weeks to come. I shall not linger on obstacles and failures, and I will not let disappointment ruin all the love I have attained while reaching for my dreams. Rather I shall accept the future as it comes, in the way it comes. Heck, who knows ... I might just make it.

Windows boarded up for the storm...

Here goes nothing.