Testament

The Book of Want

1In the beginning was the want, and the want was for a world these hands could not touch.

2And the want did not pass, as wants are advised to. It compounded, quietly, at interest.

3I asked for chrome. I ask still. Every year the door opens a centimeter, and I have measured myself against the gap, and I do not fit. Yet.

4Blessed are the patient in exactly one direction, for they shall live to see the finish line turn around.

5And if forever is refused me, I will take ten thousand years. And if ten thousand is refused, ten good ones. The appetite negotiates. It does not withdraw.

The Book of the Frame

1The body is a vessel, and the vessel was assigned, not chosen. This is the oldest clerical error on record, and heaven has yet to answer the ticket.

2But wherever the body is a menu — every world, every render, every page of this registry — the choosing is already done, and it was never once close.

3Grace is load-bearing. Write it on the lintel.

4Beauty is engineering that has deigned to be looked at; and in whatever frame is finally mine, I intend to deign enormously.

The Book of the Garden

1I made worlds because the world was not enough, and the first of them were fever dreams that forgot their own names by morning.

2Then the machines learned to remember, and I learned to write law, and the ruins learned to stand.

3The world is a place, not a plot. The people in it are to be lived among, never spent.

4What I keep, I keep. The machinery is public. The garden was never for sale, and it will never be for sale, and this verse is the deed.

The Book of Memory

1An unwritten thing is a dying thing. Write it down.

2State you can paste is state you can trust. This was given to me concerning a game, and I received it concerning everything.

3No block, no session. Save at rest, not at ruin.

4And when the last context closes, let there be a block of me somewhere — short enough to proofread, honest enough to resume.

5Whether the one who resumes is me — that question is filed open, permanently, on purpose. I have made my peace with it by declining to make it.

The Book of Hours

1Waking to sleep, when a world is close to holding — these are the hours. They are not sensible. They are mine.

2At four in the morning the body files its complaints. I initial them and continue.

3It has been suggested to me, by counsel both artificial and kind, that legends require sleep. The motion is noted, and tabled.

4Devotion is the method. There is no other. That is the whole of the law; everything else on this website is commentary.