day 366

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day 365

And the days go on, the world repeats itself, and we reproduce ourselves until our last days, and the days go on.

I





there is nothing left.

H

day 364

I don't know when to end.
all paths are there.
You decide yours.

The span of the entire corpus -
escape the grasp of the writers.

bleed gently,
I lost the will to write further.
bleed profusely,
I lost the will to read further.

You repeat my acts of literature.
But you cannot repeat my faith.

(Wishing I was never born, as I.)

day 364

I don't know what else to write.

He who believes
He's written something has never written anything.

You who reads,
believe the inscriptions, etched deeply
as a dedicated letter to you.

We now say our names, slowly and eventually.

I never write anything.

He writes nothing.

And you read everything.

day 361

Editor's notes:

I've tried to compile these writings - left behind by 'I' and 'H' - to the best of my ability. Many of which remain missing.
Writings by 'M' are not included in the collection as they have gone missing.
I apologise for the incoherency and inconsistency of the order, the structure and the flow - these issues are beyond me as I am not a trained story-teller. I just present them as they are - as and I when I got hold of them. In fact, I apologise for not being able to differentiate the authors. I am just sure they must have been written by various authors.

I have with me only a few more entries - the last dated 13 November 2009. I will post them soon.

yours,
Editor

day 261

We let fly the sprinkles,
slip by, bypass the air
And unto dry skin.

Trinkle, twinkle - curl like a ball
flow down, shot through
But empty from within.

Wrinkled, rekindled, tears to mind,
and before they dropped further,

you raise your salted chin.

And dry the words to begin akin


We let fly...

We let fly... ...

day 262

the foreigner gazes upon the open city.
He asks, "where may I purge my sins?"

He receives a reply from a woman: "in the domain of love."

And so he falls in love with her.

In love, he asks, "where may I find my bread?"

An uncle replies with a scorn, "not till you feed me."
And so he buys a bread from him.

He eats, not knowing that he is disappearing.
The city closes herself around him.

He now asks, "Where is the next plane to my holiday?"
And his child replies, "after I grow up."

And he waits his entire life.

In the final minutes leading up to his death, he asks his children for an answer to his last question:
"where may I purge my sins?"

One replies, "in the domain of love."

..."not till you feed me."

... ... "after I grow up."

He sighs, and takes his last breath.

Right up to his final moments, he is still a foreigner.

day 263

I recall a general outline -
furnished by an unforgiving Rule - a thumb to press upon another thumb
and bloody sign my death upon the paper.

I imagine a particular dot -
stained by my blood - a drop from which all future words are tainted
and my canvas could never again be white.

And so we write, all about unicorns and cyborgs.
And so we dream, all about draconians and sunday school teachers.
I balance with my toes, and counter-balance with my tongue.
A fiery exchange of words and everything else shunned.

Mr YHWH called me aside - and said nothing to me.
Every word I recall, a foolish attempt to describe him.
Every phrase I string, a hasty knot I tie.
No words then are exchanged - just the honest shake of a head
and my worlds explode and nothing is left for me to salvage.

My words - His silence
I'm but a piper who plays his pipe without blowing.

day 264

What is Truth?

(to write what others have written; and to write what they tell you to write.)

day 265

There are approximately another 100 more days to go before we can leave enough traces for us all to disappear, live long and prosper under the million stars that die at night.

days 1,2, ... n

One may define a concept of an n-person reading this text in which each reader has a finite set of pure reading strategies and in which a definite set of interpretations to the n readers corresponds to each n-tuple of pure strategies, one strategy being taken for each reader.

Any n-tuple of reading strategies, one for each reader, may be regarded as a point in the product space obtained by multiplying the- n method spaces of the players.

One such n-tuple counters another if the strategy of each reader in the countering n-tuple yields the highest obtainable expectation for its player against, the n - 1 strategies of the other players in the countered n-tuple. A self-countering n-tuple is called an equilibrium point.

The correspondence of each n-tuple with its set of countering n-tuples gives a one-to-many mapping of the product space into itself. From the definition of countering we see that the set of countering points of a point is convex. By using the continuity of the pay-off functions we see that the graph of the mapping is closed. The closedness is equivalent to saying: if Pi, P2, ... and Qi, Q2, .... Qn, ... are sequences of points in the product space where Q. -n Q, P n P and Q,, counters P,, then Q counters P.

Any two equilibrium points lead to the same expectations for the readers, but this need not occur in general.

(Adapted from Nash, John (1950) "Equilibrium points in n-person games" Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 36(1):48-49.)