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posted by [personal profile] mylescorcoran at 10:57am on 11/04/2009 under , ,
"Against Entropy"

The worm drives helically through the wood
And does not know the dust left in the bore
Once made the table integral and good;
And suddenly the crystal hits the floor.
Electrons find their paths in subtle ways,
A massless eddy in a trail of smoke;
The names of lovers, light of other days --
Perhaps you will not miss them. That's the joke.
The universe winds down. That's how it's made.
But memory is everything to lose;
Although some of the colors have to fade,
Do not believe you'll get the chance to choose.
Regret, by definition, comes too late;
Say what you mean. Bear witness. Iterate.

John M. Ford (1957 – 2006)
There are 3 comments on this entry. (Reply.)
 
posted by [identity profile] daftnewt.livejournal.com at 04:56pm on 11/04/2009
Thanks for the reminder. That poem came at a minorly opportune moment.
mylescorcoran: (Default)
posted by [personal profile] mylescorcoran at 11:01pm on 11/04/2009
Glad to have been of service.
 
posted by [identity profile] alaimacerc.livejournal.com at 08:20pm on 12/04/2009
I'm ashamed to admit I didn't even know John had passed on, these three years hence. Carries on the unfortunate theme of "intimations of Space Gamer contributor mortality", though.

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