...on readings, writings, rants, and random reflections
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Rodak's Writings: a Poem
X X All the world's wisdom rests in neat rows on my shelves, inert, its potential exhausted by time's long lesson: mind games don't play on the street. X
I am an introverted blue collar pilgrim, surviving near the center of the continent, on the fringes of a shopworn civilization. I abide in rooms full of partially-read tomes, each bookmarked with the fragment of a shattered illusion.
Everything which is inspired, heroic or saintly is derived from contemplation.
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One--the smallest of numbers... That is the infinite. A number which increases thinks that it is getting nearer to infinity. It is getting further away from it. You have to stoop to rise.