A Final Word

The first steps to forgetting begin with the stars again.
words are knives, they say, and I've proven so myself. Yours cut me deep, now I am left to tread through the darkness, feel left and right - no longer ready or sure.
Only the stars offer comfort. It is best I seek my own light again and abandon yours.

I will have to remind myself of this once again -- that once I believed myself capable of being great, that once I was sure I'd be the best. I have doubted myself since then - though myself unworthy of my lofty dreams - incapable of reaching the heights of my aspirations.
You were one who made me invisible even at my best. I wanted to believe I was wrong, but I should have trusted intuition.
But I will be better than you had imagined. 

From the pages of another lover

My answer itself will be a sign, which the other will inevitably interpret, thereby releasing, between us, a tumultuous maneuvering of images. Everything signifies: by this proposition, I entrap myself, I bind myself in calculations, I keep myself from enjoyment.

Sometimes, by dint of deliberating about "nothing" (as the world sees it), I exhaust myself; then I try, in reaction, to return -- like a drowning man who stamps on the floor of the sea -- to a spontaneous decision (spontaneity: the great dream: paradise, power, delight). 

But such recourse is futile: amorous time does not permit the subject to align impulse and action, to make them coincide: I am not the man of mere "acting out" -- my madness is tempered, it is not seen; it is right away that I fear consequences, any consequence: it is my fear -- my deliberation -- which is "spontaneous."

In the lover's realm, there is no acting out: no propulsion, perhaps even no pleasure -- nothing but signs, a frenzied activity of language: to institute, on each furtive occasion, the system (the paradigm) of demand and response."

Excepts from:  A Lover's Discourse by Roland Barthes

At the tip

Ein Herausfallen werden wir nicht auf Zehenspitzen über.

#J

When people speak of beautiful sunsets I think of you. When I read poems, and stories  or when I return to the pages, and seek new ones in hopes of  another beautiful encounter, it is also partly the thought of you I intend  to revisit again and again.

You, whom I do not tell that all night long

I lie weeping,

You make me feel alone. 

(Rilke) 

Whe smiles make a spectacle of stupidity

It is not that I cannot accept arrogance, I know in reality, this and vanity are difficult to overcome, but I hate it when people forego humility altogether.

It is easier to scoff at what you don't understand than admit the fact that you do not get it.
Sometimes the condescending smiles, in reality, we know are masks to our own embarrassments.

There is virtue in humility.

In Stasis

You/ are a too-difficult dynamic system/, a product of the unintended/ perturbations of our initial conditions. / You puzzle me. 

This is the condition:/ stuck/ in hyper-sleep,/ in semi-dream/ caught in the unawares/ or at least I tell myself while/ I know, deep within, I am conscious./ Of the pause:/ of the artificial equilibrium we effect through the opposing of the only forces within me,/ acceptance and denial. /

But no, these words are too much/ so I try to be mathematical about it/ to have an excuse for not knowing/. But it turns out, I know the numbers after all,/ I haven't forgotten./ 

The problem is in the eyes,/ also in stasis/ as if to protect the owner from destruction/ so I cannot tell the difference between infinity and zero.

Running 1

Literally, not figuratively.

For once! And in hopes of strength for what may be the trade-off for foregoing the figurative.:)

A poet once said that 'rapid motion through space elates one', it is true and so I will keep this physical pace, there is no arguing in these terms materially.

But in cases of dreamy encounters, I think I'll wager hanging around sometime. :)