wholly insufficient

“Eurekas” are wholly insufficient for proper illumination.

I am not bothered by the luxury of being able to listen to music all the time, as that is how it will be in heaven.

God grant us the wisdom to know the novel from the present.
Outwardly silent, ear-muffed in our symphony of electronic flatulence and with gazes fixed: Bohdidharma would be impressed (not understanding our technology, nor our stares).

  1. The love of continuity. Our love, my love. The shivering, sniveling demand that thing stay the same. Age is the same as change and nothing ever stays the same. We are built for death, and built to rebound.
  2. Nothing is as bitter or as sweet as we would wish. From which springs our love of stasis; we cannot enter the paroxysms of our faiths, our television, our pop songs.
  3. Yet we hang and push, push and hang.

  1. We are fit to eat the crumbs beneath our children’s high chairs.
  2. But not fit because of it.

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