Resolve:

Post the unlikeable, the failures, and all the pathos that overfillls silence.

What It Was

Being awake is so very unlike sleep, this constancy of faces, warm pressures, open streets, and insistent calls for attention wear me down each day. Each day my effort is for a silence and solitude in this constant intercourse that I walk into. In the day I operate on versions of programs I’ve written, that secure, propel, and insulate me from the masks that folk don each day. I can wonder tonight who was it that I talked to, what they meant by; and dream how they are. But, today I have little time to pause, and ask the why, and what it was; there is more to be done. 

I reason that

because monuments slowly dissolve,

a catastrophe is a evil boon


which we don't want to,

but do hope for.