Tossing and Tortured 'Till Dawn

I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide.

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

Days like this, all dullness from life is sharpened away. Nights like these, the moon is not flat, nor round -- it is a blade. Days like this, looking up through glass and brick, past tree branch and cloud, towards sky and stars and the comforting expanse of infinity, I know the meaning of life. It is no pity that I cannot tell it to you; it would not mean the same thing from my lips as from your own. My words to describe it would seem a pale, unworthy echo of that which I speak, were you one who has seen it, or they would be the idle fancies of a lost dreamer, if you have not.

Today is a day of Seymour Glass, of Billy Pilgrim, and perhaps tonight is one of Pablo Neruda.

"There was nothing I could do about it. As an earthling, I had to believe whatever clocks said -- and calendars." -- Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five .


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