Tuesday, November 22, 2011


Or, the Travelling Wake of Michael Johannes.

Spent the day/night/whatever you want to fucking call it driving. To Hope. Because I'd asked Elaine for help. Bad fucking timing.
I was in Kansas. Dropped a package off with Opal. Notebooks. Not going to need them, maybe someone gets some good out of my being a crazy. Spent an hour sleeping, kept driving.
I don't have enough time. Two more to go.
I'm going to be locked out of the blog tomorrow, my own precaution, no one worry.
Well, maybe worry. It's really up to you. Every person who needs to know, I've talked to.
Or arranged for word to get to them.
Taken a while to get here, hasn't it. And I don't have enough time.
So this is... goodbye I suppose. Need to focus, long enough to get through this.

Elaine: You're a crazy, crazy person. Should get the hell out while you still fucking well can.
Some of us don't need more dead friends and you don't need to be coddled. I regret nothing. I suppose if 'I' see you again? Aim for the head, please.

Opal: I really don't suppose there's anything else worth saying at this point. Don't die.

Lis: I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. For everything. Thank you. Be safe.

Spencer: Don't fuck it up. You're better than that. Thus speaks this corpse.

Lucas: Good luck getting Joel back. Kick his ass for me. He should know better.

Joel: Hey, good job there, running off and leaving Lucas alone. Something happens to him? You know that's on you, right? Don't fucking die.

Blake & Tia: Good luck, I suppose. Sorry we didn't get along better. My fault.

I suppose the worst part is knowing, that I could have done so much more. so much. But there isn't enough time there's never enough time. I've tried, but there's really no way I'm getting out of this at this point. I'm on the way out. Goodbye, then. It's been... nice, knowing you all. I'm so sorry, so very sorry it ended like this.

i don't want to go

Monday, November 21, 2011

Non sum qualis eram

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here.
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Paradise 8/8

As in the sunshine, that unsullied streams
Through fractured cloud, ere now a meadow of flowers
Mine eyes with shadow covered o'er have seen,

So troops of splendours manifold I saw
Illumined from above with burning rays,
Beholding not the source of the effulgence.

Paradise 7/8

Such limit did its words prescribe to me,
The question I relinquished, and restricted
Myself to ask it humbly who it was.

Between two shores of Italy rise cliffs,
And not far distant from thy native place,
So high, the thunders far below them sound,

And form a ridge that Catria is called,
'Neath which is consecrate a hermitage
Wont to be dedicate to worship only.

Thus unto me the third speech recommenced,
And then, continuing, it said: Therein
Unto God's service I became so steadfast,

That feeding only on the juice of olives
Lightly I passed away the heats and frosts,
Contented in my thoughts contemplative.

That cloister used to render to these heavens
Abundantly, and now is empty grown,
So that perforce it soon must be revealed.

I in that place was Peter Damiano;
And Peter the Sinner was I in the house
Of Our Lady on the Adriatic shore.

Little of mortal life remained to me,
When I was called and dragged forth to the hat
Which shifteth evermore from bad to worse.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

It hurts. Dear god, my head hurts.
Two more. Didn't mean to write those
I was trying to write this post.
. . . - - - . . .
Make it stop. Please
Make it stop hurting.
Why wont it stop?
. . . - - - . . . pleasehelpme

Paradise 6/8

Who would believe, down in the errant world,
That e'er the Trojan Ripheus in this round
Could be the fifth one of the holy lights

Now knoweth he enough of what the world
Has not the power to see of grace divine,
Although his sight may not discern the bottom.

Like as a lark that in the air expatiates,
First singing and then silent with content
Of the last sweetness that doth satisfy her,

Such seemed to me the image of the imprint
Of the eternal pleasure, by whose will
Doth everything become the thing it is.

And notwithstanding to my doubt I was
As glass is to the colour that invests it,
To wait the time in silence it endured not,

Paradise 5/8

To such a quiet, such a beautiful
Life of the citizen, to such a safe
Community, and to so sweet an inn,

Did Mary give me, with loud cries invoked,
And in your ancient Baptistery at once
Christian and Cacciaguida I became.

Moronto was my brother, and Eliseo;
From Val di Pado came to me my wife,
And from that place thy surname was derived.

Ere followed afterward the Emperor Conrad,
And he begirt me of his chivalry,
So much I pleased him with my noble deeds.