From f6632e410598f021f4139b6528070cb67e62ae18 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Madison Scott-Clary Date: Mon, 20 Apr 2020 18:43:10 -0700 Subject: [PATCH] update from sparkleup --- writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/017.html | 26 +++++++++++++------------- writing/post-self/qoheleth/index.html | 4 ++-- 2 files changed, 15 insertions(+), 15 deletions(-) diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/017.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/017.html index 2658450ed..617c32520 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/017.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/017.html @@ -20,10 +20,10 @@

And I will not deny that the same has crossed my mind. There was a scent of the void in there, and it was alluring. I have been tempted to follow in his footsteps and seek that void out in some coarser, purer form. I decided against it. Truly decided: I made a conscious decision to stick around.

I did it for STT at first, but integrating with the theater was too stark a reminder. Then I did it for you and Priscilla, but then she passed. Then I did it for you and...well, here is where I do not deserve forgiveness. It is not that you are not in some way worth sticking around for, as you certainly are. You have always been my champion and friend.

It's just that the call is too strong.

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I have volunteered for an early procedure. A way back. Or, rather, a way to a new place. A way to be embedded within a system, rather than simply within a hall of mirrors. I cannot say where, other than it is not in the Western Fed. All I can tell you is that the world should expect big things when it comes to what we have learned from the lost.

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I have volunteered for an early procedure. A way back. Or, rather, a way to a new place. A way to be embedded within a system, rather than simply within a hall of mirrors. I cannot say where, other than it is not in the Western Fed. All I can tell you is that the world should expect big things when it comes to what we have learned from the lost.

I will not say that there is no chance that we may some day meet again. My body will die, I'm told, but should my mind and my sense of self miraculously survive, then I will be on my own once more. This time, however, it will be my choice.

There will be those who come after. Perhaps you will come after. Perhaps you will yearn for that return to the mirrored world where memory does not die. And maybe those who come after will do so for other reasons, but they will come.

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Should I survive and then others come after, perhaps I will meet them. But it is best to assume that I will not. Maybe it is best to think of it as a sort of suicide, in the end. Here I am, going off to find a better place, and doing so through death. One that is inaccessible to you or anyone, except perhaps some anonymous scientist in a lab, typing at a terminal.

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Should I survive and then others come after, perhaps I will meet them. But it is best to assume that I will not. Maybe it is best to think of it as a sort of suicide, in the end. Here I am, going off to find a better place, and doing so through death. A place that is inaccessible to you or anyone, except perhaps some anonymous scientist in a lab, typing at a terminal.

If I see you again, I will greet you with open arms. If I do not, know that I loved you to the last, in my own way.

I have little else to offer but the words that plagued me while I was lost.

@@ -57,6 +57,16 @@ Before whom do I kneel, contrite?
Behind whom do I await my judgment?
Beside whom do I face death?
And why wait I for an answer?

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Among those who create are those who forge:
+They move from creation to creation.
+And those who remain are those who hone,
+Perfecting a single art to a cruel point.
+To forge is to end, and to own beginnings.
+To hone is to trade ends for perpetual starts.
+In this end of days, I must begin anew.
+In this end of days, I seek an end.
+In this end of days, I reach for new beginnings
+that I may find the middle path.

Time is a finger pointing at itself
that it might give the world orders.
The world is an audience before a stage
@@ -107,16 +117,6 @@ What praise we give we give by consuming,
what gifts we give we give in death,
what lives we lead we lead in memory,
and the end of memory lies beneath the roots.

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Among those who create are those who forge:
-They move from creation to creation.
-And those who remain are those who hone:
-They perfect a single art to a cruel point.
-To forge is to end, and to own beginnings.
-To hone is to trade ends for perpetual starts.
-In this end of days, I must begin anew.
-In this end of days, I seek an end.
-In this end of days, I reach for new beginnings
-that I may find the middle path.

May one day death itself not die?
Should we rejoice in the end of endings?
What is the correct thing to hope for?
@@ -134,7 +134,7 @@ Perhaps this, too, is meaningless.

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Page generated on 2020-04-17

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Page generated on 2020-04-20