Posthumous Journal – 3

February 2, 2007 at 5:07 pm (Ghost River)

John Hayes

 November 17th

“One who is afraid of time becomes the prey of time. But time itself becomes the prey of that one who is not afraid of it.”

Sometimes the roar of the ocean is so strong you can’t hear yourself think. Everywhere you look there is a single sea. Nothing is inanimate.

Even the dead planets are aware, have in fact a very fine and pure awareness whose sphere of influence flows through us constantly.

At some point the text becomes obscure and the chapters that were never that clearly marked to begin with become lost in each other. Characters appear from nowhere and then are abandoned. The spontaneously random plot disappears entirely, and then, just then you look up as the sun fills the empty sky, and ask: when were we ever not spirits?

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