10:13 pm


(Copied from a paper journal)

The legs went for a run today. The heart managed to follow. Two old negros carried a four armed cage. A racoon seemed confused, for what harm had he done?

The two men must've done it illegally. They were ignorant of causality (edit: was cruelty). If only they were to see the eyes behind the skin.

All I did was say "hello", as crossing them on the path, Previously I was caught in revery, but then could find no rath, to testify against their guns, or tiny faces.

My friend, dear Racoon, my friends, dear trappers,

I aplogize for just passing, with only inner dismay. All I could claim, was death was on its way for each and every one of us, on some distant tomorrow, or malign today.

For even a thought for you, was nothing but my own trick, it was quite despondent (of me), though we are all left sick. From birth to death, both bitter, flys a flame upon a wick. Mister Racoon, you foraged the land, and lived of that hold. Humans just steal, in hope to (edit:was "we") grow old.

We are young, we are
deathless, this is our song
We are old, we are
helpless, with a bit
off tongue we speak long.

Walking railroad tracks will never suffice. Where is the beginning, to the path called liberation?


Those up for execution,
get closer to their executioner
with every step they take.
So it is with human lives.

------ Shakymuni Buddha


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