11 May, 2009

temples

she had made me cold coffee. while about the three of us fell the swift dusk of wintertime.
it had been excellent. the coffee.
now almost three years ago.

07 May, 2009

Flights of thought

There are many reasons to write.

  At times the soul bleeds itself into the words; a catharsis of sorts. In the pangs of a sudden dusk and the scrape of the wind over a deserted hearth. A time for the failed poets and stricken painters. Yes, I remember having written of them.
  And then you have those heady days when you're drunk on the rich red blood of youth. When the fires of life flare up at the myriad -isms (rationalism, humanism, socialism, secularism...) and ideologies. The old words mouthed by young lips.You look into the depths of an uncaring Providence and shout out the "I am here!" of Mankind. The fire of a thousand stars about to kindle the voids. Or so one thinks in the heyday of all those new dawns and glorious beginnings.
  The majesty of a sunset - as if a burning ship was carrying some mighty saga into the immortality of the blazing western sky.
 That strikes the flint in the mind and heart - to 'seek, to strive and not to yield!'
 There are the flashes of sunshine and the swift succor of raindrops. The true joy of relishing wild strawberries with fresh cream in the company of friends.

I remember having written on all these and more. In the numbness of solitude - the shambling walk down oh-so-familiar streets, talking in my mind to the ghosts of the past . . . living backwards to the best days that have passed us by. Through the world-weary pessimism of teenage ("pessimism is realism" and other such maxims, lol.), the biting sarcasm and humor of maturity . . . Musings has seen it all. From Dylan, Cohen, Dostoevsky to Pratchett, Gibran and Khayyam and to de Sica, Bergman, Ray and Kurosawa . . . the ideals that turned out to be childhood idols.

 Today ... today I write for the sake of writing. For the only sake that really matters - mine. To earn the respect that matters the most. Mine again. A mind wrestling with amendments, laplace transforms, blue eyes, fish eyes and the other beautiful names that have had me kneel at their altars.
   Everyone who walks on two legs dreams once of flying. I've fallen once, but I cannot resign myself to walk. Fly I will, for fly I must.
Soli bene gloria.

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