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Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, 

Because their words had forked no lightning they 

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright 

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, 

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, 

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, 

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight 

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, 

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height, 

Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray. 

Do not go gentle into that good night. 

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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 "... Pip's ringed horizon began to expand around him miserably. By the merest chance the ship itself at last rescued him; but from that hour the little negro went about the deck an idiot.; such, at least, they said he was. The sea had jeeringly kept his finite body up, but drowned the infinite of his soul. Not drowned entirely, though. Rather carried down alive to wondrous depths, where strange shapes of the unwarped primal world glided to and fro before his passive eyes; and the miser merman, Wisdom, revealed his hoarded heaps; and among the joyous, heartless, ever-juvenile eternities, Pip saw the multitudinous, God-omnipresent, coral insects, that out of the firmament of waters heaved the colossal orbs. He saw God's foot upon the treadle of the loom, and spoke it; and therefore his shipmates called him mad. So man's insanity is heaven's sense; and wandering from all mortal reason, man comes at lastto that celestial thought, which, to reason, is absurd and frantic; and weal or woe, feels then uncompromised, indifferent as his God."
(Melville, Moby-Dick, 93)
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Little solace comes to those who grieve
when thoughts keep drifting
as walls keep shifting
and this great blue world of ours
seems a
house of leaves

moments before the wind.

-M.Z.D.
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Haven't smoked a cigarette in fifty-four days. I haven't even been thinking about it for over a month. So I am doing well on that front.
My chronic illness is back after seven years of remission. Apparently smoking suppressed my immune system enough to stave it off. Makes sense that it would come back. No sense worrying about me though. I'm taking care of myself. Just a lot of discomfort. Not a game changing thing.
I've been sculpting more. The apprenticeship is going well. My roommates were awesome and among other things got me some plasticine for Christmas. When I get something that I like enough I think my boss will let me make a bronze of it in his studio. Now I just need to somehow get a lot of raw silicone bronze.
My papers for the semester are all done and in and classes are over. My Moby-Dick paper was a lot of fun to write. Now I just have to write my senior paper in the next two months without any interruption from classes. I wrote thirty pages last week. This shouldn't be too tough. It will be really nice to get to spend so much time with one short book.
This summer I may be able to sustain myself entirely by apprenticing as a sculptor. Earning my money by working with bronze is an exciting prospect. It won't be sustainable, at least in my position, for more than one summer though. So it is past time to consider what I will do next year. I'm definitely not going to grad school for at least a year. That will give me some time to get my sea legs in the real world back and to study french and sculpture more, if nothing else. Hopefully I can get a job in the legal or government world so I can learn about what I want to know about while working and paying back some small bit of my loans.
Other than that life is all peaches and pork-chops. I'm a bit isolated, but in the best possible way, with a few choice close friends. My newest nephew seems wonderful and I can't wait to visit him. My relationship with my family, though strained slightly by my illness, is good. My health, besides my illness, is very good. And I have time to read for fun now, so I've been enjoying devouring Paul Valery's essays and leafing through DaVinci's notebooks. When I feel a little bit better I can even start running again.
Even if the dark king is right, even if all is vanity, life is pretty good. His father knew that.
Are you okay?:
Yes
Where are you?:
In my room
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I am quitting smoking. I have quit so many times, but this time I'm so excited. Just need to keep this up for the rest of my life and I'll be fine.
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This isn't french! Or a paper!
I never do these survey thingsCollapse )
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Just woke up a bit ago after having a very strange very vivid highly narrative dream. Other than being so narrative and film like it wasn't that interesting, but I am still impressed by how much my subconscious knows about crafting coherent narrative story.

I'm also glad that if my dreams are going to contain cliched serial killer clowns, they are much less intense, less interesting, and in some ways less disturbed than the detectives who track them down. The Detective is a much cooler archetype than the lame Serial-Killer-who-dresses-like-a-clown is. This is reflected in my dreams, and should be reflected more in film.

As long as I'm awake, back to writing and translating french.

Are you okay?:
Yes
Where are you?:
At my desk
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Midnight is a precipice past which all things seem possible
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My major papers for the year will be on Moby-Dick and Heart of Darkness. Yay Literature! That makes me feel a lot better rounded. Now I have to figure out next year and grad school. I think balance is going to be the dominant theme for the rest of my life. That's pretty cool.
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