One is, one supposes, with you and all the others, on the fulcrum of history, the cusp of history, a new constellation fraught with gigantic meaning, the blood, the song, the champagne in the blood, the sorrow as long as the shadows of late twilight.

                                                                                                                          geocities

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How did I latch on to something that wasn’t there? How did it drive my days for a lifetime? Why was I so sure of the whole scene, the whole meaning? The scene isn’t there either. The meaning of dawning coal-to-diamond intensity was lurking there, but not this one sere precious leaf igniting and accompanying a lonely eternity.

                                                 goldsworthy  rivers & tides

The marrow devotion, the doggéd daily optimism, were not there. The knight for light under all circumstance wasn’t there.
How much of the rest of my life didn’t happen?   more »