The things a turtlell surprise himself by doing, vol. DEVE

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A goat butts against a hedge.
It cannot go backward, it cannot go forward.
Nothing serves to further.
If one notes the difficulty, this brings good fortune.

140/90 - 110BPM - Saturday February 22nd, 2020

By the edge, near the cliff, at the very, very limit
I am beating at my horses with my arm, a whiplash in it.
I'm not getting enough air - drinking wind, the fog imbibing,
And I smell with deadly rapture: I am dying, I am dying!

My cardiovascular system is in poor shape, unless the blood pressure monitor in the pharmacy section of the No Frills across from the Real Jerk at the corner of Carlaw and Gerrard was malfunctioning when I stopped in on my way home from Cabbagetown to pick up maple syrup for pancakes followed by a skate on the Greenwood pad with HG the next morning, probably the first time I've had a friend pay me a visit since the first season of Night at the Lego Opera was shot around this time last year.

Just a little slower, horses, little slower now!
Do not listen to the sharp whip, it is wrong!
But the horses that I got are capricious ones
I can't live to the end, I can't finish my song.

It's not as obvious to see how bad of shape my computer is in except when I try trashing screenshots and it's impossible to tell initially if I failed to click in the right spot to drag or if the processor cycles are dragging, but I assure you the stress mounts much more obviously when, for instance, I sit down with the desire to watch The Late Show over breakfast, but finish eating before I even manage to get Youtube to load, let alone a clip playing, or when I type something into the Chrome address bar, say to check on Carmen or send a kitten into the cave, but the keystrokes take so long to register that I have time to use the bathroom and perhaps stop in to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and sit back down before watching the website or search term I entered appear one agonizingly slow stroke at a time.

I will let horses drink - the couplet I will sing
For a little bit more I will stand on the brink...

Freaked out by a friend's warning that my hard drive was not long for this world when I described some of these woes, I tried to buy an external drive on clearance at the Staples in the Gerrard Square to make sure I don't lose the overwhelming abundance of volumes comprising Erik's magnum opus waiting in the wings, but my system was too old to work with it and I had to return it for a refund.

I will vanish - like a piece of dust by wind I will be blown,
In the morning they will drag me in the sleigh through the snow,
O my horses, walk a touch slower, show a bit of moderation
Just a little bit, prolong my way to the final destination!

You have nothing to prove, my dear. Nobody can take away what makes you who you are at your core, what I have fallen so disastrously in love with and what you feel vibrating in sympathy with my magnetic molten core that draws you to me. Wilhelm's commentary on the nine at four in 25: Innocence is apropos here: "We cannot lose what really belongs to us, even if we throw it away. Therefore we need have no anxiety. All that need concern us is that we should remain true to our own natures and not listen to others."

We are here: nobody comes late here to greet the Lord of Heaven -
Then, why do the angels sing with voices so angry and heavy?
Or the bells shake from weeping, weeping gently, weeping deeply?
Or I shout to the horses not to run so quickly?

I don't know if the little stunt coach put me up to unexpectedly today even registered in the cesspit since it looks like Joe hasn't used his Twitter account in a year or two, but if nothing else, may it serve as a cry of desperation from a turtle who needs to take a break and just doesn't have the faith that he's being heard.

Just a little slower, horses, little slower now!
I pray to you don't hurry along!
But the horses that I got are capricious ones
I can't live to the end, I can't finish my song.

Every new loop of the roller coaster, never knowing what fresh neglect of my feelings is waiting around the corner, or what expectation Carmen may have for the wit displayed by her travelogues to be acknowledged, takes an ever greater toll on my well-being; you already know what Erik needs to finish what's been started, so please stop giving me homework that's killing me to keep up with. I love you.

I will let horses drink - the couplet I will sing
For a little bit more I will stand on the brink...

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