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Margaret Anna Alice's avatar

Pure poetry in prose. Reminds me of Denise Levertov’s “Evening Train”:

”I called him old, but then I remember

my own age, and acknowledge he’s likely

no older than I. But in the dimension

that moves with us but itself keeps still

like the bubble in a carpenter’s level,

I’m fourteen, watching the faces I saw each day

on the train going in to London,

and never spoke to; or guessing

from a row of shoes what sort of faces

I’d see if I raised my eyes.

Everyone has an unchanging age (or sometimes two)

carried within them, beyond expression.”

(https://www.americamagazine.org/poetry-denise-levertov)

Thank you for your heart and mind, Paul. I am grateful we belong to the same karass (https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/letter-to-my-karass).

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Crapp's avatar

I hope you’re correct Paul. I have my days where I feel it, the days where I hope it and then the days where it feels so far out of reach even though it is staring us right in the face, snarling at us. The power structure does have a sense of desperation about it at the minute - like it forgot to lock the toilet door when having a shit and we momentarily walked in on it.

But it has its hooks so deep into the information systems that reality itself is being hammered into an ever more overtly, brutal and authoritarian model which is being actively championed by so many as “essential” to save “freedom and democracy” that i fear shit is going to get a lot darker before any real light can have a chance to flood in. If we survive that, perhaps then there will be enough clarity within the pummelled populace. That survive is a big if as it appears to me currently. But then, it has been a difficult few weeks watching our power structure do a motown chorus line for savagery in Palestine. So maybe tomorrow it won’t seem so bleak.

It’s good to read something hopeful. Thanks!

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