There are times when I find myself barely grasping to sanity. I suddenly sense my own self-awareness and discover that I have almost slipped into the realm of abstract, aesthetics, art, ideas. It frightens me sometimes how easy the transition could be made and how tempting it can be. It’s like standing at the edge of the ocean, hearing the Siren’s call, and being tempted to step into the waves and swept away by the riptide.
Today I was swept up in the beauty of falling snow.
Snow affects me deeply. I find symbolism of purity in snow.
I am of a savage design. I will never be gentle enough to embrace a snowflake until I am dead.

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January 22, 2005

One dime, two nickels,
three pennies, but how much sense?
Where is all the change?

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Perception Continuum

*Please note: This entry is primarily for my own reference.

Andy’s Continuum of Perception
Realm of “Reality”
Acts of Significance
Imperfection
<-----------------> Realm of Mathematics
Acts of Logic
Perfection


What is troubling to me, is that this all follows a continuum and so it must in some sense merge and coexist, yet I have trouble comprehending this, so I continually find myself hopping from one extreme to the other.

It’s strange. In my coccoon, my womb, my sealed plastic blister pack, it is easy to see how everything is merely coincidental aggregation of perfection. But when I step outside and the warm air hits my moist skin, it seems so apparent that minute perfection merely serves as a base for significant grand imperfection. Perception is the sister of deception.

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heroic stanza (iambic pentameter quatrain) for “andalokseer”

i wish your days get better one by one
and brighter ev’ry day as hope may rise,
as steady and enduring as the sun,
so only tears of joy shall fill your eyes.

Revised Version (2011.05.14)
I pray your days get better one-by-one
and brighter ev’ry day as hope may rise–
as steady and enduring as the sun–
so only tears of joy shall fill your eyes.

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Isolated Lines, Arranged in Chronologically Descending Order

It always seems that I am one staple short, and everything comes unbound again.

Every day when I wake up, I become a pallbearer.

When mortals abandoned the old pantheon of Gods, we took responsibility for ourselves. The weight that Atlas once bore is now distributed across mankind, but this heaviness is not distributed evenly.

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Birth/Bath/Death

I do not remember being born, nor do I know what it will be like as I die.

Sometimes, I like to take a warm bath. I draw the water up to the edge of the overflow drain and then climb in. I cross my legs and lie down. Squeezing myself into the tub and laying back, I let the water envelope me and drown my senses. And for a brief span of time, everything beyond my mind falls away. I am free. But soon, the water disappears through the overflow drain. As the water drains away, my body fills back in. I feel the cold weight of my body begin to cling to my torso as I breathe in and rise. My own cold flesh wraps around me, tethering my mind to this world with tangible form.

I think that this must be what birth is like: transition from freedom in tiny space to entrapment in vast space. And I imagine that death must be like this too, only grander in scale.

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I took out the trash. I am sometimes struck by the world around me. Tonight: the golden carpet of leaves beneath my feet, the somber blue sky, the solitary moon, the cracking paint, broken windows hiding piles of junk, wasted broom, cracked pot of cigarette butts, illuminated shades that only hint of the troubled world within, my own visible breath escaping and retreating into anonymity. There is a beauty here that no one else sees, that no one else truly experiences, and that will only be known by others in snapshots and second-hand accounts. And it reminds me of other beauty, and of pain.

snapshots and second-hand accounts

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Andy: When did the light go out of my eyes?
Reflection of Andy: When did you drop your head?

Andy: Are you what others see when they look at me?
Reflection of Andy: I am what you see.

Andy: How can you be so calm and collected when I feel like this?
Reflection of Andy: Think of a lake. “Look before you leap.”

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We drink like fish because we have heard that they don’t feel pain.

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I understand Atlas.
I understand burden the way a young child understands heavy.
I understand.

Edit (10/14/04):
I understand Atlas.
I understand weight the way a child understands height.

I understand the logic and the concept—

I have experienced some height, some weight.
I understand, but I do not understand in full.

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