Wednesday, 17 April 2013

Poem:Love, Allan Ginsberg.

"The weight of the world is love. 
Under the burden of solitude..."

We can only be hurt by that which we love.  Home is where you are.  I've never met someone like you. I only suffer if I need you. So I let go because it's simply easier than letting your pain and your passion reside in my heart.
Be bold and don't forget how bright your light shines in the darkness you've chosen to step into.

My life is weird.  From the depths of concentration,  to facing down the bitterness of betrayal and trying to swallow the hurt before it swallows me, to a phone call from a senior politician who's invited me to tea if he's not being whipped.

‘Even in destruction there is a right way and a wrong way – and there are limits.'
Thus speaks a young Russian terrorist in Albert Camus’ Les Justes.

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