Pristine Beauty
The magic woven by Terry Pratchett in ‘Going
Postal' took my mind like a wave invading every
lonely space, filling me with a sense of delight
and the desire to keep on digging for meaning
Since I cannot be content with the mere fact that
I exist in the way Golems can, I have to assign
meaning to everything in order to prevent my
inner self turning from quiet and calm into
A raging torrent of existential dread and my spirit
from acquiring a waiflike quality, moving between
states of consciousness, too confused to choose
between moments of being to settle quietly
Long enough to enjoy the delight of existence as
escape from non-being, it took a while to drag my
mind away from a feeling of guilt about this holiday
and the concomitant fear that a short escape
From my robotic existence at the office might corrupt
my heart to develop a passionate longing for freedom;
confident enough to skip over disturbing passages on
Reacher Gilt, I hate his guts; loving the excellent mind
Pratchett assigns to Vetinari, sharing his trait of loving
ideas as principles: music as signet ideals, staves on
paper, notes safely ensconced thereon with no attempt
at execution to spoil its pristine beauty - just like him
I adore romance as an ethereal ideal formulated in en-
chanting writing but not any attempt at execution which
always falls short changing the idea into a hopeless
Don Quixotic longing for the impossible…
Going Postal - Terry Pratchett - Doubleday 2004
Quoted from p.78
************************************* *************
Painful And Joyous Reading
The library open, a miracle found several
titles interesting, normally everything seems
boring, I'm courageous enough to tackle ‘
Briar Rose' about the Second World War
And sisters fighting in ‘When She Was Good'
hoping to find insight into my relationship with
[...] Read more
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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