Sunday, June 26
WEEDS The danger of memory is going to it for respite. Respite risks entrapment. Don't debauch yourself by living in some former version of yourself that was more or less naked. Maybe it felt better then, but you were not better. You were smaller, as the rain gauge must fill to the brim with its full portion of suffering. What can memory be in these terrible times? Only instruction. Not a dwelling. Or if you must dwell: The sweet smell of weeds then. The sweet smell of weeds now. An endurance. A standoff. A rest. (Diane Seuss)