Wednesday, March 07, 2007


These are rugged times for the bench-hugger. I trained for one sort of life and now here's another, with all the laws turned backwards. That sweet plain of endeavor that teems in memory is as pale and blank as a snail's forehead. At night under the cotton the sad things drift upwards; the tight wrappings on the samskaras, which for decades have resisted all tugging, loosen on their own and the heavy slabs float into the light. The pitiful false achievements, the ameliorating daydreams, the pretended authorship, the comforting delusions, the willful distortion of history all dissolve into the shimmering spring sky and personally, I find it almost unbearable.


Blogger Unknown said...

There's nobody there.

4:04 AM  
Blogger --MC said...

They're still there, they've just gone up the scale to where we can't see or reach them.

12:52 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hang in there Jim. The sun will be back to banish the demons of these dark days – Winter’s almost spent it’s wad. Hell, you can almost hear the Woodringalian larval forms stirring in anticipation…and the Pups are scratching at the door.

9:01 PM  
Blogger John Hankiewicz said...

This is perfect.

12:48 PM  
Blogger Pocheco said...

wow...this is like an epiphany. you write so well, it's jaw-dropping.

12:41 PM  
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