Danny James

184: Sally in the Summer

At the time that we met, Sally was engaged to be wed and I was content in my own affairs. Perhaps it was in my busyness that I had not acquired a ready authority for rebuttal against sudden occasions of intimacy, and so was quite unprepared to find her presence so pleasantly misleading and necessary, further abrading my habitual disinterest of company with our every interaction. A faint esurience begun to beat in the blood, escalating a percussive verve into a tremorous diastole of an exposed unignorable space. The work to which my poise I long so diligently committed soon lost much of its relevance and appeal. A fog of some unknowable insight fell, at which I flinched initially, but soon found myself wading through in earnest, hung on the idea of precisely what I did not know, as when children act on instinctual whim and charge on wonderings that age and experience in propriety deny. And through the bedlam of grown-up static it steals from time to time, hitched upon a desperate sigh of fading impulse. – As when you find yourself more frequently not rushing from your car but instead, sitting and staring undecided in longer and longer bouts of absentminded relief, that you can finally slump without a witness to your inauthenticity. But the breach of some striking sense impression soon compels sobriety again, – such as windscreen frost glistening in the rays of a rising sun. Or the gradual intrigue of your breath visible in the Autumn morning, and you return at once enkindled again, to that which you must with all your present best.

Innocent departure kisses drew longer, and made from the cheek to the corners of our lips, assuming an unspoken daring and inappropriate delightfulness from which neither would withdraw, nor with talk delay hurrying to. I anticipated the forbidden collisions, prior outlining the usual bodily contact points, and leapt in hot to press our hips and the edges of lip flesh revelling the glimpse of plaguing joy in her eyes seconds before.
My hand found always its home in the svelte curvature of her lower back and each time as I pulled closer Sally would bounce to her toes so as to fit perfectly into the invitation. We held on, swaying in the silent affirmation, lingering the thoughts and savouring the rush and warmth of throbbing desirous blood.


Liberty at last, sweet longed-for liberty. Of width continuing and ceiling none. The weight of such days, unbearable.


Often my own private character discolouration terrifically suffers remedy when in another, I witness the same affliction far more advanced in its governance.

181: With vanity before reason, is Winter every season

What then, is impressing on you this tension that you seem unable to dissolve? That knows you through, and hits on the mark with perfect, disabling blows, and yet you cannot name or touch. It is you sir, the source as well remedy, of your cold anxieties. It is not with reason you have pitted yourself, but conceit against.


For some time you could not figure what role it was that best fitted to your Nature and ability, or even if it were a disservice identifying with but one ideal at all; but here, the Artist translates, the Philosopher must know, and you have not the patience for these, but the sinews and energy for rigorous offensive. For still must somebody act, and so should you take up that honour, while there is still time and much to be done.

179: The way

Seek to be wrong. You will arrive nearer to the truth of things.


Further he goes, his own limits knows.


You will betray yourself if you seek in them your own cherished and honoured traits.


It can rain, and long may.


Ever onwards with strength.


Stoicism, and the pursuit of virtue.

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