Troops

8:36PM—and I sigh, for this day was long and heavy, and fraught, with hardly four hours of sleep, and I woke up, and I got tossed around in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu by a man twice my size, or just under it, a dynamic and powerful, fast-moving brown belt with few compulsions, who each time reminds me of how small I am, not only in the sport, but with his words!

And he accused me of playing “possum,” while he choked and continued to choke, until I let him find the “sweet spot” and tapped, at last—and he said he would have held it for minutes, if he had to, and I respected him for it, yet he, for some reason, respected that I did not give in, not too early—but I should not, for such would be uncourteous, and he had not yet earned the victory, so why should I grant it?

And a day long and heavy at work!—reading one review after another, writing notes and comments to refine the code and take it forwards, making a minor suggestion here and a major one there, sitting in a meeting or two, contributing my thoughts sometimes, but usually staying silent, for there is some profundity in making no errors.

What!—why not the first step, to “do no harm,” like the doctors of old?—or, in modern parlance, perhaps in the financial sectors, to “not go broke”?

And I began making errors!—and I said a pigeon turns its head around 360º, not 180º, for which my friends gave me Hell, and I purchased a bar of chocolate from my Shop in the Ferry Building of San Francisco, and I ate one square and disliked it, and I gave it to a friend—and in fact, but I forget, that he paid for it, anyways.

What a dream!—and it is a dreamy reality, but let us continue to the meat of this course, and I got home and listened to music, not classical this time, but that of a friend, and then another song, whom another friend sent, and I worked and worked—after having dinner, a hearty repast of my handmade pasta, marinara, and ground beef, a salad on the side—and created my system for the “clothing page backend,” the services to connect endpoints, the database model and the “lambda” function, a polling for recovery, and I cut out emails—instead, to use an “order lookup” page, and I designed this, and I made a few decisions of this nature.

But!—with the boring out of the way, I drew these decisions on paper, and bit by bit, my mind began to wander, and I wrote this speech—“speech”—and I now copy it, for the first time, perhaps, writing not from memory, but I wrote this only fifteen minutes ago, so please forgive it—and count it as being in the same style.

I dream of a world opinionated and artistic, not unopinionated and violent—for where there is no expression there is destruction and energy improperly harnessed.

Do people not realize pettiness when they see it?—and Martin Luther King Jr., with whom I share a birthday, dreamed of blacks and whites getting along together—now, in the same tradition, I dream of a country less polarized, red and blue holding hands in unity and purpose shared.

What, are we so different?—and what makes it so?—yet I dream of ideals, so let us be concrete, and I shall say that I love you, regardless of your gender or politics, no matter what the rest of the world says—and I can tell you with some certainty, they do not know what they are talking about.

Let them be fools!—and let yourself be as you wish to be, and better, still, for there is so much potential in each of us, I hate to see it drained and wasted by those who lost their own battles in a time long-forgotten.

Go forth, those of my make, and build in this world an image of love and tolerance, for to understand your enemy is to conquer him, and to see yourself in him—or her—is to forgive.

Divine, Divine Blessing, on you all!—and may this day and the next shine bright in the light of your creations.

Ah!—how embarrassing, for this is the first time I have read my words, and they scald my eyes, and hurt so loud, but let it be as it is, for I wrote them once, and that is enough.

I fear death!—sometimes, and I have so much to say, and so much work to do, that I feel that I must rush it through the door, otherwise I shall perhaps disappear, and leave the world with my best work unfinished.

But, does not each project end premature?—or, at least in part, and perfection is an ideal to pursue, perhaps never to reach, only to imagine and conceive in the mind and heart, where it all is pure and untainted?

Enough musing!—and I chatted with friends today, and they agreed that I could order for them a hooded sweatshirt or one crew, and I have a new idea—to try an oversized crew for a certain few people, who may wear it well, and for each problem, and this is one such—dressing—should you think through from scratch what is going on!

Yes, there is more than counterpoint in this world—there is melody and harmony, and let it be as it is, and I have my favorites, but let other people have theirs, and push not so hard—only to let others appreciate it!—then judge for themselves, what is right and wrong, best and worst.

Just a touch of liberalism!—and it confuses me so, because both left and right like liberalism, the former in social settings, the latter in economic, and I do not see why there is so much cause for conflict, and I merely like both—so be it, I am a liberal, in the first and second sense, so there goes your boundaries, at least in my mind.

So confusing!—the lines drawn, the troops set, heavy chins and sturdy helmets, all for what?