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 - through Shakespeare

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 meander separating chapters can be tissue thin.

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

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

The countryside was an inferno, the Dutch were nuzzling the shores, + a suspended dagger swung loosely a meter above the king’s head as he lay down to sleep.

"Get that rabble of a cat out of this room. He stares at me while I’m asleep and messes with my dreams.”

Why he, a harmless necessary cat.

“Nevertheless. Remove him, or I’ll do it from here.”