and then our exile

damnable disjoint between knowledge and in/action. naive, 'i begged release'. nowhere on earth safe, or the heavens, or the seas, or ether. drawing children who make mistakes and demand another sheet of paper. they too growing are reduced, laid bare, forgotten.

umar^ra saw a man pray hurriedly then raise his hands and supplicate for paradise. "with that?" he asked.

if you assume life has no meaning existence becomes so much easier. meaning is saturated with weight. weight like baubles.

until leaping into the sea the great obsidian cliffs / mute and impassive watch the many flailing. and in the granular light the dust will take on long draconian forms through sequential drawn-out evenings.

existence wills itself to be justified.

asked yesterday, a question. i did not want to answer. why not? i have my own self-interest at stake.

"the world is iconic, or it is ironic." returned late at night, this ramadan: awoke noor to let me in. why didn't you use the key? it was in your hand with the others. such grip, everything as stifling metaphor.

the russians love their children too.

snowless winter...