2.7.18




















To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing. 
(Macbeth, Act V, Scene v)

Kind of like:

The moon in the water; 
Broken and broken again, 
Still it is there. 
~ Choshu. 

My eyes are squeezed shut, blinking inwardly what am I doing? 
Shhh, I'm researching.

Has it become thus - when someone needs to be either a harasser, or a victim to get attention?

Bashō … Later that year he left Edo on the first of four major wanderings. What a wonderful way to separate the chapters of a life. The skin that separates the chapters is very thin.

At some point, we need to stop looking for invisible scars, and take our freedom. 

I do not know where this stuff comes from. 
It comes to me and I report. Wether I believe it or not, is of no consequence.

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