it is as if the worship of the temple
could never, ever stop,
inside, it was so holy.
the acid rain fell,
it crumbled to ashes.
i took a picture, i keep it in my breast-pocket.
i remember the names of the monks,
the sweet smell of myrrh,
the blanketed lamps,
the gentle sway of tapestry.
the picture has a wrinkle in it,
right where you should be.

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"...Though without the multi-faceted approach, we see a narrow minded evolution of this kind of thinking; to truly divine the good out of an idea, we must first attack it as an ultimate evil; we must assume it to be a cause of harm, without getting caught in a Hume-ian predisposition; we must believe, with every cell of our bodies in the truth of ( Read more... )

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Aaron held his peace, so may I. Please don't think that I'm overcoming great obstacles of disinclination. If you only knew ( Read more... )

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