Friday, October 13, 2017

Update and Latest Allays

Daniel Christopher June to the Students of Life:



Life has been more of the same: struggling to keep my job despite struggling with major depression; managing my special needs daughter Natalie despite how difficult this is; trying to be a good husband, good father; and writing, as a self-therapy for all the previous stuff.

I've decided that ownership is discipline. The tax of parenting Natalie disciplines me, makes me more than I was. Every occupation is an education: if I can do well on this job for at least five years, I'm sure I will have learned as much as in four years of college. So I keep going and trying despite my self limitiations.

Here are the latest Allays!


Take care, Caretakers!


* 814 *

Poetry is possibility. The hard cold clamp of math, the frozen toe tripstones of science, which would, could it, speak only math, hopes to choke all connotation out of existence. Yet the letter lives. A man does well to cushion his days and relationships with suggestive ambiguities, investments, dissonances, and resonances which pay off when opportunistic moorings seek their sail.

Limber your lamb-soft talk in ways, days, and possibility -- the finale of seem, the double of dream. Be sure to double all your truths, to veil yourself in wonder. Prose frames a fair skeleton, but everything vascular rhymes.

Only a sense of could, a flirt of suggestion, keeps open the gate of maybe, the child's freedom of such it can be. We flirt with existence, and half our sense is nonsense, till at last we see and believe.


* 815 *

How did you find me, despite my disguise? Why did you ambush me when I lay hidden among the deaf and blind who can't at all recognize me? I've made sure of it, that nobody would see me for what I am. Boring, predictable, 'weird but harmless,' so I have deigned to seem. Yet you come on the scene with high congratulations as if you had a clue. Save it! Save it all! I don't care for your praise or bare recognitions. You speak as a man drunk, who feels unfettered enough to slur a few truths. I've worked too hard to crystallize my aspect. Harass me no more, I care not for your praise or flattery. Even Ama plies me with criticism, complaint, and every manner of critique. If I can so hypnotize her, in her earthly aspect, equally will I chain you down, once I learn your name and givings. I will be owned by no one, and so I fake my chains.


* 816 *

Beauty created the universe and beauty sustains it. We would conform to our age and our time, the motives and directives of our generation, yet when the innermost shines, time melts away. As Milton sang when he spoke through Satan, but wheezed when he spoke through God, so there is no faking inspiration: where there is fire, there you burn; where there is ash there you dim. So ask where a man or woman sings. What gives them fever? For fifteen years, my Niviana, and she alone could make me sing. How to escape her? Why can no other spring the tune? Love certainly is not a convenience. We sing as we must, not as we would. The themes of the times, the "inspiration" of monetary gain, mean nothing, say nothing, fade like the waves, which bow down, forgotten. Likewise, we may ride the tide, and ebb with the sea, yet that fountain heart, irrepressible, sets the tone of eternal youth. I can never escape you. My Self is a Will; I must submit to you, the allthing, the without-which-not. There is no god but God, and to each man this is his very Self, groom of Ama All.


* 817 *

Intuition: the fetus thinks. We develop our gift, our talent, our difference, our Name, our meaning, our purpose, our logic, our crea, our vocation, our logos, that eternal unique life, from the beginning, and ever after in all that we do.

Some outer forms correspond to the inner urge. If Socrates had a genius for definition testing, and Jesus for hyperbolic one-liners, so too do each of us have our difference which, if we attend it, expands as far as we care to take it. My Niviana has a genius for antithesis, and myself for combining divergences.

Editing is to make a work more like itself, self-similar, to develop the native genius within it. Bring out the best in everybody – their best, which will be unique and difficult to recognize, as all new things are.

Give, but just enough – never completely. Let your gifts irritate and provoke, let your truths shock and titillate, expose only glimpses, and save your greatest grace for Ama alone.


* 818 *

If falling in love gives you wings, frees the soul, whatever curlicued bit of prosy you prefer, know at least this: love is slavery. As power is freedom, love, therefore, as a submission to the beloved, as a trance to her beauty, also amounts to a sacrifice of power, and hence resentment. That love and hate so completely coexist so as to be simultaneous aspects of the same – one felt consciously, the other unconsciously – is evidenced by the wrath, fury, resentment, and thirst for revenge freed during divorce proceedings. No new emotion erupts during a breakup, but the repressed underside of love itself, the resentment at sacrifice and submission to the beloved, her expectations and demands. Hate is the obverse of love, and its unconscious support: we love her under these conditions, and in this way – set the terms, coach the codicils – but should she forsake them, then our righteous fury erupts. In no other relationship are we so vulnerable as in love; in no other relationship can we be hurt so intimately and irreparably as in love. It offers us our highest highs and our lowest lows. Cupid abused Zeus blamelessly and without punishment. Thus we are all done in by this prankster son.  I know of nothing more evil, and innocently evil, than love. Power at least commands respect with its dignity. Love undoes us all.


-- R 88s Я --

Perfection Is Easy



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