Beware Tiamat

A deep fear of randomness is so widespread that it is surprising that it has no name. Religion provides a ready solace in most instances. It is only when scientists tie themselves in knots trying to deny its existence while retaining a natural interpretation of reality (seen in both physics and biology), that the primal fear becomes clearly evident.

Bereavement (I suppose)

I approach stunned, bewildered

A minesweeper’s brute concentration
Focused on the next step

Stepping aside ghosts

Step aside, make room,
Make room

It’s a throng now
Like, officially,

Like, at that point
Where you’d feel cursed
If you didn’t know better

I mourn the death of a friend,
And I feel guilty for forgetting,
However briefly, the old dead.

I thought I was coping just fine with yet another death.
Whatever, done this before, no problem, right?

But, maybe not.
I don’t know if I’m doing this right.

I don’t know if I’m using it as an excuse to write poetry

Or exploiting it to reach out

I’m emotionless
Calm and something else.
Some other feeling

I take these as common signs of bereavement.

Quote: Jorge Luis Borges On poetry

Poetry springs from something deeper; it’s beyond intelligence…It’s a thing of its own; it has a nature of its own.

Mark Twain: Quote

Words are only painted fire ; a look is the fire itself.