June 15, 1982
I’ve become such a foolish soul these days, pinning my hopes on words instead of actions, setting myself up like a bowling pin to be knocked down again.
A person should learn wisdom from past mistakes. But I continue on, building a pyramid, brick by brick out of my foolish romantic ideals.
Anyone else would have by this time realized that a pyramid is just a marker for a grave, and it is folly to spend a life time building a marker for no one to remember but the maggots.
Still, I persist, building up my own tension, vibrating with melancholic airs in expectation like a man masturbating in preparation for sex.
Somehow I expect all of this to end up in a heightened experience.
The past, however, proves that such optimism breeds disaster.
Or does it?
Sometimes, it seems so – that hope which drives us on also drives us into the ground like a stake.
We hold up the tent to some evil intent, witnessing not great events, but sour things. The lost of love, of life, of liberty.
I wish I was wise enough to see why.
But I think that Job is right. Good and bad in nature are beyond us, and fate is merely the karma of a three-dimensional being in a four-dimensional universe. We do things and have little control over the consequences, like a stone landing in water has no knowledge of the ripples it makes, then when the ripples lash back, we wonder why.
Well hope is a powerful force we then to use to foolish purpose, creating ripples that smack us later when the important issues come along. We ride the waves like helpless ships, condemning everything else but ourselves for the effect.
Maybe we should restrict our hopes to obtainable, worthwhile things – like love?