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and the rest is history sort of......DAVID EIDE.COM








Reflections at night when the dark is good and we see further. A short meditation.
"A silent conjunction between what one thinks and what has been thought."


Brief Tales on a Whim.
There is nothing more pitiful than the storyteller without his stories.


Meditations on the 60th Anniversary of Hiroshima What would the end of the world entail? Do we boast that we can imagine such a thing?


3 short stories. $3


In the apprenticeship period hopes are high.
"But then, who will save us from our own crimes?"



The manuscripts are under $8.



"The preliminaries have ended and now great tension is felt for the main event. "It's why we are here." The betting is heavy. The women anticipate a few good fantasies."

There is manna and there is nothing; choose manna.

If my manna is your poison don't expect me to make it my poison as well.

By all means bring me manna that is not my own and let me eat and drink thereof.

Sometimes what tastes like manna one year dissolves into thin air the next.

Sometimes what dissolves into thin air one year re-appears as manna.

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Write through the complexity on the way to simplicity, says the old man.

Play! Not battle.

They wrapped the hot dogs in lambskin in the place. The heater was a vigorous work machine.

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The journals eventually became the best instant I could pull out of any given day. A day almost always plain and mundane. That was a given but for consciousness and its judicious use of imagination. And that wonderful omnivore known as intellect. And the claws of emotion; now opening, now closing. "Oh, here come the nasties again!" And while we are prepared this time the iron claws keep vibrating open and shut, depending on some genetic mishap.

So it goes down into the heap Christ said it would and we are here, blank, with what is fronting us. What? The source of our problems!

I would think if you've lived some decades and only have a few left, if that, the mind starts that wonderful synthesis, that meaningful extraction to give off to someone, something, somewhere perhaps but not with certainty, a consciousness of "well we have been through that, here we are and this is what few nuggets have been dug out. The rest? Down the rabbit hole. The rest? A dangerous sort of gossamer."

Gone to the bloody past. Yes, it happened. As did all the rotten days we suffered. They happened. How many deaths were realized! The happy hills and green valleys are to us, now, dangerous stratagems for the mad.

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"To use the mind well." That was one of the goals or objectives. I had seen a lot of ruin in my day. I had seen what happens when one thinks there are no consequences.

So much compression out of one who studied the long weaves in old novels!

I mentioned the microprocessor and nuclear device as two objects that inspire the careful implosion that folds up on itself and waits the mind with the right key.

That is poetry.

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In the beginning the world was flat and empty.

Don't be cut off at the pass by the bad nature of others. Freedom produces less bad but it is more intense than the merely good.

The bad rarely points beyond itself to the good. It continually points to itself.

I try to see the whole of the past 150 years. The rest of the continuum consists of bright bushes or speckled eggs that draw attention and are admired. But to comprehend and make sense of the past 150 years, from the Civil War to the present is the challenge and implicates much of what I do. And throwing it off is an option.

To be ignorant and throw it off is barbarism of a sort. To know it, comprehend it and then transcend it; that is a bit different.

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