i've forgotten to call about a hundred people and now it is almost too late.
i am in seattle and i am against the war and i feel no need but a great need to explain and i have forgotten to call a hundred people.
it strikes me that i must get it all down and soon. it strikes me that time waits for no man and certainly for no man. i suspect we have been predicting the end of the world ever since we came on the scene but i suspect that the world will go on without us although there may be some question as to whether there will be quite the world that we perceive if we are no longer here to perceive it.
roach world. rat world. these things will go on.
it strikes me that i must get it all down and soon and this is because the world could end at any moment and this has nothing at all to do with any specific threat but everything to do with the general fragility of life that is at all moments placed upon the block.
when i am gone i won't give a flying fuck. i mean that is what i believe. if i am wrong then i might give something like a damn after all but mainly the sufferings of beings thousands of years into the future mean nothing to me except insofar as i can imagine the suffering itself. insofar as i can imagine the suffering itself it means a great deal.
i am in seattle and i feel a great need to explain myself. in thousands of years this won't matter except insofar as the suffering. insofar as the suffering it passes but then more comes along.
it strikes me that i must get it all down and soon and this is because the world could end at any moment and i have not called hundreds of people and now it is almost too late. it strikes me that i must get it all down and soon although in the long run there is not much point to it.
i am in seattle and i feel a great need to explain. in the end there will be some sort of end and if it is like billions of ends it will be unremarkable. in the meantime i feel a great need to explain although in the long run one wonders just who is explaining and what. and how: buckets reigned over a vast field of painted lillies; green candies might crumble in peace; a rock found its way to the telephone; the same thing did pretty much the same thing. granted a certain nausea.
in the long run i won't give a flying fuck. this much is true except insofar as the suffering which cannot be taken down. that is i must get it all down and soon but suffering will not be gotten down and in this way is precisely, well, god. the sword the wound and the stain. a tight swirl that is and is not what it is and is not. something like specifically unnamed. irreparably divine.
i feel a great need to explain. i have forgotten to call about a hundred of you.