with few exceptions, nearly every disaster that has ever befallen me has been the result of my own actions. i create my own hell and then live inside of it. this is absolutely true. it almost makes me sick to think about. i don’t hate a single person on this planet and nobody ever really did wrong by me. if there’s anyone i could hate it would be myself, but i’ve already done enough of that and i think we can all agree it’s narcissistic and, quite frankly, pretty pathetic.

how’s that for self-awareness!

and thus, though surrounded by circle upon circle of consternations and affrights, did these inscrutable creatures at the centre freely and fearlessly indulge in all peaceful concernments; yea, serenely revelled in dalliance and delight. but even so, amid the tornadoed atlantic of my being, do i myself still for ever centrally disport in mute calm; and while ponderous planets of unwaning woe revolve round me, deep down and deep inland there i still bathe me in eternal mildness of joy

there is a wisdom that is woe; but there is a woe that is madness. and there is a catskill eagle in some souls that can alike dive down into the blackest gorges, and soar out of them again and become invisible in the sunny spaces. and even if he for ever flies within the gorge, that gorge is in the mountains; so that even in his lowest swoop the mountain eagle is still higher than other birds upon the plain, even though they soar

the rokas sisters and our little brother dante a few days ago

i had not seen helen in over two years . . . not since she visited me in berlin about six weeks before the pandemic began, only we didn’t know that yet

to wit: