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NIGHT THOUGHTS

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AN ILLEGAL DAY IN THE HISTORY OF A SOUL

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THE SHORT, HAPPY HISTORY OF A WRITING LIFE by David Eide:

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LOOKING BACKWARD

A certain time rushes over us; through us is a more appropriate term. Then we are given a moment to reflect on it and we see it was all nothing but vanity piled on vanity. The marketplace must be fed. The political animal must be fed. When the time turns obliquely this way it is fed a particular way and when it turns that way, it is fed differently. What is damaged is, always, the capacity to dream and create.

Ah, we will not see the haunting that will move, ghost-like, through the puerile institutions. We would stand away on the horizon of one of the lesser moons and dangle our feet in the abyss; sad for the life that passes us by. Perhaps the life is obsessed with the promise that it will escape what it already is deeply implicated in. We have no loyalty to those who would burn us while we sleep.

A certain fallowness strikes me from time to time. It's the unbridgeable boredom that puts one in the lonely, stark and fierce forest, separated from the mundane run of things by a raging river. And it's not as if I have never been in the forest before. And it makes me forget the joy and pleasure of the crowded cities. It turns my attention to a map where I must suck up all the bits of information lodged in an innocuous map. It convinces me that the world has fooled itself into believing that it is a performance but with the price for recognition that is too great. Therefore, we are silent and look away when the beautiful creature approaches wondering where we have been.

The brutal extraction of some penalty simply because the fool wanted to know and to welcome the real and modern world into him.

Constant motion is the secret of life.

So we finally get to know our world; the world we belong to because our will demands it. The world of mute symbols. The world of the free radical. The world where the spirit is free to launch itself from any tower. The world that absorbs the great characters haunted in the daylight avenues when there is nothing better to do. Scenes in the world permits us to enter many other worlds and partake of its richness to, at least, avoid its darkness.

I would like to think that I see the same moon and sun as Homer did. I would like to think that the ocean touches all things.

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