i am waiting for something. i don't know what. writing is not appearing from my fingers onto the computer screen. i feel like i am taking a deep breath just before i plunge in again. i hope so! i hate writer's block, it pisses me off.
it's a night for rilke, from the duino elegies, the second elegy:
lovers, if they knew how, might utter strange, marvelous
words in the night air. for it seems that everything
hides us. Look: trees do exist; the houses
that we live in still stand. We alone
fly past all things, as fugitive as the wind.
And all things conspire to keep silent about us, half
out of shame perhaps, half as unutterable hope.
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