Respect, for finished things.

Sometimes you get caught up. Caught up but then saved at a late minute, reminded by the holy knowledge that you know nothing. Pray we all keep those poignant moments.

I have respect for finished things because they speak for themselves. The finisher of a thing in some ways disappears forever when the thing is finished. The finisher’s good or bad intentions, their pride or shame, all are severed when the product actualizes. It becomes an independent entity. And at that point, out of the finisher’s control, it can really start to teach them.

I thought of a million blog posts. They were all brilliant and they unfolded in perfect calligraphy over my imagination. But after so long the bottom of the page still stared back at me reading “0 WORDS”.

So how much can no amount of a great thing ever be worth? Much less, at least, than some amount of even a mediocre thing.





Gone” is one of those words that, after only a little bit of mastication, starts to look and sound weird. All words will, eventually, but “gone” does so particularly quickly.

It’s a strange exercise, isn’t it? To meditate on words until they lose their meaning.

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