I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish enough “Hello’s” to get you through the final “Goodbye.”

-Enough, by Bob Perks

Just as I thought I’d laid the ashes of my aspirations to rest by doing my final duty, it came back to haunt my dreams.

Fate awaits.

my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height

this motionless forgetful where
turned at his glance to shining here;
that if(so timid air is firm)
under his eyes would stir and squirm

newly as from unburied which
floats the first who,his april touch
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates
woke dreamers to their ghostly roots

and should some why completely weep
my father’s fingers brought her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry
for he could feel the mountains grow.

Lifting the valleys of the sea
my father moved through griefs of joy;
praising a forehead he called the moon
singing desire into begin

joy was his song and joy so pure
a heart of star by him could steer
and pure so now and now so yes
the wrists of twilight would rejoice

keen as midsummer’s keen beyond
conceiving mind of sun will stand,
so strictly(over utmost him
so hugely)stood my father’s dream

his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn’t creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile.

Scorning the pomp of must and shall
my father moved through dooms of feel;
his anger was as right as rain
his pity was as green as grain

septembering arms of year extend
less humbly wealth to foe and friend
than he to foolish and to wise
offered immeasurable is

proudly and(by octobering flame
beckoned)as earth will downward climb,
so naked for immortal work
his shoulders marched against the dark

his sorrow was as true as bread:
no liar looked him in the head;
if every friend became his foe
he’d laugh and build a world with snow.

My father moved through theys of we,
singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
danced when she heard my father sing)

then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine,passion willed,
freedom a drug that’s bought and sold

giving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear,to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of am

though dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things sweet,
maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit,all bequeath

and nothing quite so least as truth
—i say though hate were why man breathe—
because my father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all

-my father moved through dooms of love, by e.e. cummings

“Had I known but yesterday what I know today,
I’d have taken out your two gray eyes
And put in eyes of clay;
And had I known but yesterday you’d be no more my own
I’d have taken out your heart of flesh
And put in one of stone”
– Tam Lin

I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations — one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it — you will regret both.

-Balance Between Esthetic and Ethical, by Soren Kierkegaard

“There is only one sin, only one. And that is theft. Every other sin is
a variation of theft… When you kill a man, you steal a life. You
steal his wife’s right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When
you tell a lie, you steal someone’s right to the truth. When you cheat,
you steal the right to fairness.”

- The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini

Le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît pas.

The heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing

-Blaise Pascal

For sale: Baby shoes, never worn

Now, this is how you teach kinematics to WC3 addicts.

WC3 and kinemtics ftw!

Advice is freely given, but lessons are hard fought. They cannot be narrated, nor related, nor taught.

The only narrator and teacher is Life itself. Lessons that we learn ultimately become part of what we are, and form our principles, and our motivations. Advice, on the other hand, is easily given, and easily lost. But lessons, lessons last a lifetime. Sometimes even longer.

Herman Hesse’s Demian

“I realize today that nothing in the world is more distasteful to a man than the path that leads to himself.”

John Burdett’s Bangkok Haunts

A tolerant smile. “Of course I went mad. For a monk, what the world calls sanity is a whorish compromise.”

“But something saved you. You seem okay now.”

A curious expression. “Saved? There is nothing to save, my friend. You are talking like a Christian. You cannot cast yourself into the Unknowable in the hope that the gesture will buy you salvation–you have to jump for the hell of it. In a nirvanic universe there can be no salvation because we are never really lost–or found. The choice is simply between nirvana and ignorance. That is the adult truth the Buddha urges upon us. We are the sum of our burning. No burning, no being.”

John O’Hurley’s It’s Ok To Miss the Bed on the First Jump

I am of those I’ve touched, and the best of what they are.