Month: September 2026

Less what is true

(about yourself, or others, or the world)

or useful

(for yourself, or others, or the world)

but what is good,

for yourself and for others,

where and how you are right now.

A sufficient contentment

just to live

wherever you are right now

and however you find yourself

without seeking to understand

or to put yourself anywhere else.

Not a life or state

other than the life and state

that are yours right now,

your own in this moment

right where you are,

alone in your room

seated in your armchair,

with the hum of the noise-canceling machine,

and your feet propped up on the wooden slant board,

and your sniffling nose,

and the worries that flit by in your mind,

and the small aches in your body,

and your wonderings what to write…

To love life as you find it where you are

and ask for no more,

be it not easy or pleasant or fun

(and however briefly

you are capable of this,

as much as you can,

at least,

to try

to tend towards this).

Life in any case

nothing other than movement,

a going from now

to now,

along the way

of the eternal present…

Most of the time

if you stop

and let your mind go

silently

and suddenly

it’s taken

by your fear

of the moment

and falls

downhill.

To not sink in sadness

but to write:

“I am the one who writes,

the one who chooses

once again

to survive.”

And,

the song being cried,

I once again

begin to describe

the path I can’t help

but make,

give life.

*

There is something to be said

and something to refuse; —

we are how we say

and refuse,

the words that move

and ache

in us.

*

You have to write

though

it’s true

that what comes

doesn’t suit you,

you who read and judge

the lines.

No, you’re not Stevens,

nor qui que ce soit,

but you write who you are

as you are

and that

no one else

may write.

*

We are not what

but how.

How we say,

how we meet,

how we try,

how we think,

how we know,

how we suffer

and fail

and take

the inevitable defeats

and trials

of everyday life.

We are not

however

what we say,

what we think,

what we do,

what we know.

How is the key to our being,

and our choices,

our yeses and noes…

Every hour every day

you build it, 

decide it, your life.

For good and for bad —

(& the good needs the bad —

to work off from, 

to learn from,

the one not existing 

without the other:

our strength

grows out

of our weakness,

our good

out of 

our bad). 

So. —. 

*

[Mom recounting her dream last night:]

Adam Sandler was excited I was making bacon…

*

La peur 

est un mouvement animal 

bien redoutable.

Et qui nous apporte 

quoi ? 

Une croyance 

tout de suite.

La peur est

tyranniquement

affirmative.

Je crains le loup, 

je le vois,

je me sauve

à toutes jambes ; 

plus je cours, 

plus je crois ;

ma fuite vaut preuve. 

*

[Fear

is a formidable

animal movement.

And what

does it bring us?

A belief,

immediately.

Fear

is tyrannically

affirmative.

I fear the wolf,

I see it,

I save myself

as fast as I can,

and the more I run,

the more I believe;

my flight

proves it

[is worth (a) proof].

On devrait bien 

enseigner 

aux enfants

l’art d’être heureux. 

Non pas 

l’art d’être heureux 

quand le malheur 

vous tombe sur la tête, 

je laisse cela 

aux stoïciens, 

mais l’art d’être heureux 

quand les circonstances 

sont passables 

et que toute l’amertume 

de la vie 

se réduit 

à de petits ennuis 

et à de petits malaises.

*

[Children really should be taught

the art of being happy.

Not the art of being happy

when misfortune strikes out of nowhere,

I leave that to the stoics,

but the art of being happy

when circumstances are okay

and all the bitterness of life

is reduced

to little boredoms

and little discomforts.] 

[My journal so far today.]

*

Morning pressure;

The weight tap-taps,

Knocks and says:

“Why, well, you’re back.

Back and older,

More stupider, less

Innocent, simple:

You look a mess!”

A mess I make

My bed and take

A shower, drink

A cup and think

A million thoughts

Insane, and not

Remembered but

Like flies shooed off

And I, a mess,

Fall back to work,

Fall back to thoughts

Insane and not

Pursued but dropped; —

The feeling though

Does not let go

And I, alone,

Fall back home

A little older,

Less certain, no

Thoughts but evening

Pressure, wonder

Dumb and tired,

Blows me under

Cover, books and

Completely…

*

“You’re the next Jim Carrey.” –Mom, this morning.

*

10:07 am. Crazy, filled with bad and mean and cowardly thoughts.

Very difficult morning. Miserable at times.

Looking out of the window of my room, the thought:

“It’s like I’m on an island, stranded…”

*

Easy now, or easier, that I’m -here-, in my journal.

My attention’s focused.

But when I turn away, chaos.

Hm.

*

“Dès qu’on a la foi,

l’expérience répond. [Alain]

*

[As soon as there’s faith,

experience responds.]

*

By understanding -first-

the simpler.

I have my traps.

And hope. –.

What’s good?

Getting up again. 

Failing

and getting up again.

Embarrassing yourself

and choosing

again

to get up

and try.

What’s good?

Feeling pain

and choosing

all the same

to try

again.

What’s good?

Feeling embarrassed

and trying again.

What’s good?

Choosing to go on,

feeling your pain,

and choosing

to accept it there,

not hating it,

or feeding it,

but going on

and trying as you can.

That’s true.

So 

you are

where you are.

So 

you’re not perfect.

So 

you feel unhappy.

So 

you know

it’ll pass.

So 

you know

you’ve felt this before

a thousand times

and it’s passed

every time.

And so you know

you play your part,

and,

if you want,

can help yourself

in not aggravating

the pain,

but accepting

its presence

and,

if you can,

distracting

yourself

from it

with what you love,

work

you enjoy,

or looking

at the sky

and moving

on. 

It’ll pass,

you’re okay.

So you can imagine

whoever it is, 

who you think 

perfect

or happy.

You can think that. 

But you know

it’s illusory,

a convenient excuse

to worsen your pain,

to make it seems just,

reasonable,

as if you don’t decide,

or have no choice here,

(or that those you imagine

don’t either);

that happiness

falls on you

or it doesn’t;

that we don’t make

our happiness,

that it’s something

out of our control;

but you know 

that’s false,

and you’ll suffer if

you believe it. 

So you can think

anything at all;

so you can think

about what

hurts the most,

imagine what you desire,

the people you think

enjoy these things

as if obvious,

going of itself,

excitement,

fun,

purpose,

and the rest;

you can think that;

but you know 

it’s false;

fuel for 

a vain fire

you make.

You control

what counts. 

You control

what makes you 

you.

You decide

again 

and again

who you are

in resisting 

the worst

ideas 

that tempt you.

You decide,

and the rest will come. 

You decide 

what counts.

Do you think

having what you desire

is 

what counts?

as if it was 

just received

without work,

without courage?

Every moment

you choose.

You can think anything. 

You can think 

what causes you pain,

or you can think 

what brings you joy,

a desire to work

and to dare.

You choose.

The painful thoughts 

are easier 

and they work

because they spare us

the difficulty 

of daring,

of working,

the difficult work

of hope,

the risk

of giving. 

What’s easy

attracts

but spoils

quickly. 

What’s difficult

reveals

what we know 

already

but fear

because hard,

imposing.

We evade

to no end,

preparing 

our punishment

blindly.

Work saves

(the work

that’s love,

the love

that’s work).

(The silent

and immobile

too;

where there’s

resistance,

difficulty,

courage,

love.)

No doubt

there are always

happier, more love-filled lives ;

but the love that saves

is born in the solitary heart ;

that is, 

you decide ;

you

where you are ;

you 

who cry 

and live

alone ;

the love you give

and,

when it’s hard,

swear by,

act on,

that love,

that forgives all,

saves 

and decides

your life. 

*

What you can’t change,

how do you meet it? 

Do you fear it, 

covering your eyes and,

if not, 

shooting glances,

either resentful

or self-pitying?

How can you love

what makes 

your prison?

And if you did

what then?

To say,

‘I see you.

I see you.

I see where I am. 

I see where you are. 

I see. 

I feel my pain. 

And I wonder:

what?

What… 

What if I’m wrong?

to fear,

to hate?

What if what

I feel as a weight,

a punishment, 

a curse,

I make… 

I –

I make last

in hating,

in fearing,

in not knowing how to look in the eye,

what if I

in refusing to love

blind myself

to my own trick,

the key out

the whole time

in my hand?

*

Don’t waste your suffering.

You fall and you get up. (Or you don’t. But you decide.)

What if 

you, 

after falling,

forgave yourself

promptly,

fully,

seriously,

and moved on?