a fragment of a first draft of an offering never to be written down again :

This is familiar. This is home. This is the punctuation that I found under the orange tree in your back yard, in the smile and the hug you welcomed me with into Davis. Sea serpents and seasides and gardens and salt. You welcomed me West, you welcomed me home, and I will always love you and be inspired for it.

Flowers. Mead. Tea. Oranges, and sunlight and gardens and wet dirt and books. Two continents, two oceans, gardens away. And this too is home.

I love you I love all of you

get some rest, okay?

You were one of the nicest people I ever met, either online or off of it; always helpful-- always pleasant, and always friendly.

I regret sharing so few words with you either in cyberspace or out of it.

You are missed.

Sincerely, BookReader

In a way I wish today was April Fools Day and the events that have transpired were nothing but a cruel hoax perpetrated by an uncaring Supreme Being.

Sadly, it is not. The events are all too real to many of us who know Kevin and Christine and I’m sure I speak for the many when I say our thoughts are with you during these trying times.

There’s something missing from everything today. There's a hole that cannot nor should not be filled.

I don’t consider myself a religious man by any means. Maybe spiritual best describes my thought process when it comes to matters of life and death. I’ve taken solace in the past from some lyrics from a tune called “My Brothers And Sisters.” I hope you do too.

This world is not our home
We’re all just passing through
Our trail is all made up
Way beyond the blue
Let us do the very best that we can
While we're travelin' through this land
We can all be together
Shaking a hand
When we make it to the promised land

If we walk together, little children
We won't ever have to worry
Through this world of trouble
We've got to love one another
Let us take our fellow man by the hand
Try to help him to understand
We can all be together
For ever and ever
When we make it to the promised land

One last thing and this goes beyond Kevin and Christine and extends to the vast majority of us who call this little corner of the web home. I kinda mentioned it in a private setting but it deserves to be seen by a wider audience. If this node and all of the subsequent contributions to it don't demonstrate all that's good with E2 I don't know what will. Hopefully there's some solace in that.

The lyrics in question were penned back in 1991 by one Charles Johnson and performed most notably by the Jerry Garcia Band. You can see the rest of them here.

Hadn't planned to node anything today; I wish there were no reason to.

Earlier, I had announced that my next ten C!s would be put into the unjustly degraded nodes of The Ballad of Mark the Kramer; I now delay that promise for a week or so, for they are merited elsewhere first. I've not noded there. My words are deeply inadequate. Perhaps all words are.

I'll avoid the impulse towards sermonizing, except to propose that (so far as I believe, in any event), in the end, all things return to One, and all the joy of every moment of existence is forever preserved, washing over that One, in an infinite diversity of combination and recombination. Our lives serve to generate these experiences; and in the time to come thereafter, we glow within them.

There was a storm this morning before daybreak.

The sound of big, fat raindrops and distant thunder was at the same time deeply unsettling and comforting.

I have been a registered user here for only 1.5 years.

I have never been to a nodermeet.

I never met her in person.

I never even had any of the deep significant discourse with her that many of you have enjoyed.

She chinged a couple of my writeups and she pointed out a few typos.

We shared small talk in the catbox.

When I read "When did I lose my brave little soul?" it broke my heart.

Be whole again, Christine.

गते गते पारगते पारसंगते बोधि स्वाहा

She touched my life, even over the distance, even through the pixels on the screen. She was always such a nice person and I suppose my most cherished memory of her was the extra special chingy attention she gave me after we had our miscarriage.

Few people are so awesome. She will be missed. I guess what breaks my heart most is what Tess must be going through. And of course wertperch, but especially Tess.

I was really pulling for her. The planet lost a good soul. Earth is now a little less awesome. It was similar to when my grandma passed last March. What's with the month of March anyway?

Run like you're six, grunny, wherever you are now. If there is an afterlife, maybe we'll see you again at a heavenly nodermeet after we've all ran out of upvotes and cools.

/me misses grunny

Tomorrow may rain with sorrow
Here's a little time we can borrow
Forget all our troubles in these moments so few
All we've got right now, the only thing that
All we really have to do
Is have ourselves a heavenly day


Thank you for showing me that life is worth living despite our problems. Tomorrow is promised to no one, but today is all ours, to do with as we choose. I have saved every message, every kind word you have sent to me during my time here in a Word document, and I read them often to ensure I make the right choice. To live.

Do svidanya, comrade. And remember: Amazons don't die; they just take extra-long coffee breaks.


I'm no fighter but I'm fighting
This whole world seems uninviting
But I don't give up, no, I don't ever give up
I fall down sometimes, sometimes I come back flying

Lyrics taken from the songs Heavenly Day and I Don't Ever Give Up respectively, both from Patty Griffin's album Children Running Through

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