Hun 29, 2007

Week Notes

It has been predicted that when I have reached a certain age, I shall receive power A sudden influx of force, 241/4 days before 29th birthday (4 p.m., Sept. 15th 1945!) I believe nothing of it! But, in spite of almost totally clouded outward aspect at present, - debris, exhaustion, - I cannot deny the possibility that after long and incessant struggling and painful development, one might reach a state of this kind: force to enable one to make coherence of oneself; to see, - not the answer to any Sphinx’s riddle, or Solomon’s Key, - but something like a finally convincing image of the significance of one’s life, an assurance of destiny. Coherence: a gathering-together of the dispersed powers of one’s personality. Such a state could not be lasting, but might, nevertheless, permanently alter the level of one’s life. Attainment to a lasting deliverance from the trivial to the unmeaning: from the quicksands.

David Gascoyne
June 29, 1937
Diary entry

Secret gardening.

The G8 summit, by all non-internal accounts, was an exercise in futility. The US has played the delaying tactic when it comes to solid steps regarding the control of its corporation’s liberties with the environment. It’s not democrat or republican anymore. The US consistently sits on the damned thing with the most beautiful words. This time Bush used “serious,” as in seriously look into it, seriously study, seriously deliberate. Seriously do squat.

Whenever I had nothing doing, I stop, begin deep breath cycles, and say to myself mantra-wise: “At this very moment the spheres of the cosmos turn/ At this moment all atoms know destruction and peace/ At this moment Gloria is pulling one over me/ Aum.” I whispered to the janitor: “All your bad days will end.” He smiled at himself but not at me.

At last the letters came! Also, Gadzooks the flame angel once again told me that she experienced much difficulty committing to her calling. I asked how certain she felt about her trade. She shrugged her shoulders. Then the crackle of flamefeathers. Man, I can’t express the beatific stirring of her wings whenever she doubted in that manner.

I dreamt of Diliman and Los Banos activists, all three siblings, Tommy Lee Jones playing US Marshal, and Jejomar Binay playing Lupin. I got to throw a pair of scissors at him. Had a nice aim too. He escaped, and I woke to the non-secret high point of my week. Dr Miciano and all her little trips and tips gave opportunity for much practical humility. Freeday, ham eng love, as they say in France. But wait: Satyrday! Leap, leap little man. The messenger cometh.

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