
Maybe it's a storm
you run aground
or a small leak
the end result is still
the same
you end up
at the bottom

Maybe it's a storm
you run aground
or a small leak
the end result is still
the same
you end up
at the bottom

A dozen waterfalls
bring what's fallen
down
trough a forest
they find
without knowing
the way

Did I want my life when I was young?

226 We immoralists! – This world as it concerns us, in which we need to love and be afraid, this almost invisible, inaudible world of subtle command, subtle obedience, a world of the “almost” in every respect, twisted, tricky, barbed, and loving: yes, it is well defended against clumsy spectators and friendly curiosity! We have been woven into a strong net and shirt of duties, and cannot get out of it –, in this sense we are “people of duty,” – even us! It is true that we sometimes dance quite well in our “chains” and between our “swords”; it is no less true that more often we grind our teeth and feel impatient at all the secret harshness of our fate. But we can do as we please: fools and appearances will speak up against us, claiming “those are people without duties” – fools and appearances are always against us

Your needles feel like they want to catch me

Time just has to pass in silence away from my thoughts I rowed toward the point where I get tired and fish for what I don’t need here only the wind streaks the calm sea where the current stays like yesterday I probably end up like before with maybe a catch that is rare.

I started a new project again. This time on a boat that different boatbuilders had worked on but abandoned. There is little information to work with, but I began working last Friday after two weeks of preparation. There are many steps ahead, and I will keep you updated. If by any chance you know someone who is good with wood and wouldn’t mind living and working in the north of Norway, please let me know; I need help.

31 The illogical necessary. – Among the things that can reduce a thinker to despair is the knowledge that the illogical is a necessity for mankind, and that much good proceeds from the illogical. It is implanted so firmly in the passions, in language, in art, in religion, and in general in everything that lends value to life, that one cannot pull it out of these fair things without mortally injuring them. Only very naive people are capable of believing that the nature of man could be transformed into a purely logical one; but if there should be degrees of approximation to this objective, what would not have to be lost if this course were taken! Even the most rational man from time to time needs to recover nature, that is to say his illogical original relationship with all things.

I moved to another space, job, and time again with expectations on my side. Even though I didn’t spell them out, I knew what they were. But this ambiguity makes it difficult to feel my state of mind for now, I am here. It’s my age or time, getting closer to an end than a beginning. Expectation slowly shows its empty face after it already lost its words.

He never really talked but his movements a look a slight gesture told you what you wanted to hear and see

75 Love and duality. -What then is love besides understanding and rejoicing in the fact that someone else lives, acts, and feels in a different and opposite way than we do? If love is to use joy to bridge over oppositions, it must not suspend or deny them. -Even love of self assumes an unalloyable duality (or multiplicity) within a single person as its precondition.

270 The eternal child. -We believe that fairy tales and games belong to childhood: shortsighted as we are! As if we would like to live without fairy tales and games at any age! Admittedly, we call it something else and experience it differently, but this is precisely what speaks for it being exactly the same thing-for the child, too, feels that games are his work and fairy tales his truth. The brevity of life should preserve us from pedantically separating the ages oflife-as if each one brought something new-and a poet should sometime present to us a human being two hundred years old who really does live without fairy tales and games.

Ever changing skies
like the dreams they can
show you what you will
if you stare
long enough

In all the years I lived with her
she never woke up
I guess I didn't ether

I once lifted you up
while I was waiting to be alone

The sun doesn't set
when you are high enough