Switching over to a different LiveJournal account for more reasons than I care to put down here. Comment or send me a message if you'd like to tag along.

Nope.

No fun in Stalingrad.

0111010001100101011000010111001001110011

 :

Also, the Devil.

And in that silence, between one word and the next, you can hear the crash of the distant waves upon our lives, the whisper of the crowning foam breaking against the bone. One by one, obsidian pearls, amethyst tears, crumbling into the cold, wind-swept waters, pulled away by the sea. And there we stand, miles away, between one word and the next, ( Read more... )

Everybody these days seems to write rampantly about loss and nothing else. The obsession is almost pornographic.

Where do they find the time, between one loss and the next, between the last word and the first, to find - to build - something worth grieving?

Posted via Vita for iPhone.

There is always that... "If you know a good love song, have someone else play it."

I obsess over certain images, over certain turns of phrase. We all do.

Borges had his knives and mirrors, he had his labyrinths. Themes and archetypes, perhaps, that ring some deep-hidden synchronism in our most basic, personal, and intrinsic elements. A symbol, perhaps, that epitomizes, that represents in a primordial and Lacanically real sense, ( Read more... )

I feel like I'm slowly disintegrating as the days roll by. I'm peeling away and getting lost in the breeze. As I walk, as I live my last days, I scatter my own ashes. It's just as well that I do it while I'm still here, no one else would have when I was gone.

Our body is constantly shedding old cells and replacing them with new ones, and they say - ( Read more... )

Tea and darkness, a bed and a fresh page. That the world could stop right now, and that deaf music go on forever. I would be happy in this eternal twilight.