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May 15, 2005 23:45

Now it is Sunday night and the workload has steamed up to a peak of procrastination that'll ne'er be thwarted,
flow like water of cold streams, east of here
I hide in the hidden deeps
Clutch the transcripts and proceed.

Thoughts on the Tao Teh Ching
From 41
"Great squareness has no corners.
Great talents ripen late.
Great sound is silent.
Great form is shapeless." -Tzu

These are some things to rest my eyes with and think on. The great squareness must mean squareness in one's self, cut no corners? I will ponder this.
From my minuscule knowledge it would seem that great talents often exhibit early signs of such talent, and people's talents in our own American culture are often either unfavorable, illusory, or exploited, but perhaps talent presides above too large a group of sub-talents for this to go any further at the moment. Is the plumber talented? The phone-sex operator? The poet?
Great sound is indeed silent. And great silence has no sound.
Sleep, sleep at the computer, sleep formless in shape
and count the shepherd's sheep,
Countless documents to prepare for the sunrise
I have nothing. I have a snip it I saved that I was going paste in the journal, Until I was interrupted by now I do not remember. That should be my next entry, That would be el cheapo so here she blows:

This is it. Tonight I went to a few poetry readings, actually two different readings, the International Poetry Festival here at Carthage- It was tremendous. Had some crew go up and read poetry, 14 languages. I did read some Rimbaud in French, and some people complimented me on the old french accent, even one of the teachers here, I knew I enunciated those r's with proper tongue dexterity, although my inflection was lacking, maybe due to a long absence from speaking the language however I was pleased with my general performance. This is dalliance. The second reading is closer to all of us:
An accomplished Vietnamese poet, Ngo (this is where I am picking up now two weeks later) Tu Lap, his name is Ngo Tu Lap. Reflecting now on the reading I can't help but tingle inside when I delight at the wise and friendly demeanor of Mr. Lap, his knowledge was much too vast for any of us to comprehend I am sure, and his poetry is admirable
"Probably, a star has just died out, but I don't know." Minus One
If anyone wishes to read his poetry ask me and I will see what I can send to you. It touches a place that I have heard Rilke attempts to touch, which is in turn the untouchable, although I have not read Rilke.
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