dedication counterentity devoting every fiber, day and night, to a cause partly my own, partly that of a generated monster. and all the while, wondering if it's a cause worth working for. 021119 ... p2 if i ever write a book the dedication will read: "To you, for buying this book. And if you didn't, Don't you feel guilty now? Guilty enough to buy the book?" 021120 ... lycanthrope "whose absence is felt daily" this is the line, we skip over on the cards before we sign them, like the small print we know is going to hook us and so don't linger on. and it's an expansive phrase as far as small print goes. perhaps ghosts are that absence we feel because it seems concrete as if it is looming haunting us like an endless song without a chorus always building never arriving the way people pass you on the street and aren't your lover, not yet, and then are gone. it's so easy to see it there in my father's chair that used to creak late at night after he was home for work, sitting palatably. it used to exhale the official end of waking time, his old friend who seems now a god going on without, never knowing how much it was to him or me, all of these things. anyways, silence is its new master. and the kids you see in high school and college, first love glimmers going out of their eyes signalling that they're ripe for the glorious tomorrow of humankind. most childrens world's are filled with melancholic monsters and farcical angels, deals are made that most adults will never understand because the file is labeled, and empty. no one ever asks the kids if they miss them when they say get ready for this important world of counting and gathering, and you should never leave any lose ends. no one ever asks them which world they prefer. eventually everyone you know dies, like the war veteran down the street, you go to put on your shoes and both are there, but you only have one leg, because the daily world will assume you're full and whole and won't stomach otherwise. and he is a nice man, his love is sincere, but only as sincere as his half-hearted smile. you feel the absences, untill the absence is of the feel and then eventually you are the absence. it's like coming home and forgetting the alarm was set, and it's crying and moaning like a baby waiting for its mother to return but there is no guarantee, it could just be resounding to nothingness, and indeed, it slowly, more everyday is. this is the end of all things. 040430 ... stork daddy every war has a comical ending somewhere. 040430 ... Syrope it was like a memorial for someone i'd never met. he really was a completely different person around me than his friends, but neither the person i knew nor the person his friends knew was spoken of today. i refused to go look through his pictures. i want to remember the baby pictures i saw at his house the first time i went, and i want to remember him the way i saw him at the last apo meeting. that's all. i'm so glad i went though. it was all worth his mother's hug. she was the same wonderful person i knew before, same warmly sarcastic tone through the sadness. i hated to see her sad. i hope she understands. as a woman, she should. as a mother, i'm afraid i'll never know how she feels. 040430 ... heartfeltsuperego of self to the divinity inside oneself. While not self-worship, it occupies a thin line between deflating and heating the ego. Let us dedicate token honours to ourselves - to the divine light(s) within us that may once acknowledged illuminate our collective consciousness. I wish you love. peace. dedication. 120106 ... Doar I am always in awe of the storkman. Just reading his prose.....freakin hell....lyrical to everyone. . 120106 what's it to you? who go blather from