november 4

so shari once again renewed my faith in humanity, saving me from almost certain meloncholy.

we were talking, the matter matters not, and then she said to me "but no, i mean it."

what is the world known only by its outline, 
rimmed in talk and laughter,
a vacant space surounded on all sides
yet in itself no matter,
even if all details exist
as if created by a series of stamps,
press out from inside the sphere,
quick to then be discredited and reabsorbed, 
but leaving soft traces which may melt in the sun.

and what are we,
if but shadows in an empty setting,
why not such stuff as the heavens are made of?
we give them more force than what we can hold in our hands
when we are lost
in the darkness we create.

but no, we are matter,
(worm food waiting to happen,)
and there is meaning in our madness.

i've just come from watching rosencranz and gildenstern are dead, quite a movie for making one lose the mind. if the wit and wordplay don't get you, the vertigo of logic will... where physics are both present and ignored, and truth uncertain, dependent on memory, and we can believe only what we are prepared to expect. after all, actors exist only if someone is watching.

i sped back on my bike so as to not let this all escape me. memory is a funny thing. on my ride my hands froze and my eyes teared from the cold winds i myself created. the world is all too real when chilled to 32 degrees.

10.27 | november | 11.17