This wicked breath inside of me is a rebellious thing.  Hungry and ugly and evil and full of self defeat.  I want beyond all measure to crawl into the shadows, a whisper on the wind, a lost and lingering scent that rages against time.  I'm always out of time, it's science.  And I gaze at your happiness disgustedly, you've got an ugly side that ( Read more... )

The Terrible Gardener

Fallow ground. All this area, all this soil, it has all lain fallow. Years echo with the autumnal hum of firework vegetation and the steady pattern of failing rain. Harvest upon harvest that ended in failure abound in recent memory and thus all fields lie fallow. The ground is fresh, moist, it breaths a weighty scent into the ( Read more... )

on the edges of honesty it
whispers and steams
jesus i don't need your love
only lend me your support
but need is so laden, so
terribly burdened with
truth and propitiation
like the cross he carried
i'll only acknowledge
how my own crucifix
crushes my soul

This urgent solace longing overcomes the barricades and hunger drains into me. Why does this need for aloneness, this desire for desire for dissipation strike so greedily? As one borne of the middle how do I even begin to conceive of the beginning let alone the end? Only hunger remains, for what and when I cannot construct. My framework withers ( Read more... )

When I was a boy I spent my days in thought. These thoughts shaped me through there purely imaginative form in which I was always embarking on some heroic quest or rescue against some nearly unstoppable foe whose devious machinations held the innocent down. Borne from a love of books, the fantastical stories of CS Lewis, Tolkien, JM Barry, Lewis ( Read more... )

I haven't been this hungry in years.  My mind, once a barren ground, now desperate for rain, the seeds waiting for relief from the dying heat of the stored knowledge of a year in solitude.  Feed me, would you please!  Not just Nietzsche, but Walter Benjamin, Franz Kafka, Albrecht Camus, Borges, Lewis Carol, CS Lewis, Bohnhoeffer; I want the secrets ( Read more... )

            “To be dead means to have to live.  That irritates our natural thinking.  Being dead is not deliverance, salvation or the final possibility of escape-on the contrary, flight into death is flight into the most terrible servitude to life.  The inescapability of life as commandment-that is the knowledge of death.” [1]

My ( Read more... )

The Sun engages in potentialities much like the future is merely waiting for your presence. Our continuous orbit much like Hegel's conception of a circular time advancing steadily on a true plane affords both the present and the past a quiet assurance of the coming future. Revolution finds realization in itself, much like man desires ( Read more... )

ON THE WAY OF THE CREATOR

Is it your wish, my brother, to go into solitude? Is it your wish to seek the way to yourself? The linger a moment, and listen to me...

You call yourself free? Your dominant thought I want to hear, and not that you have escaped from a yoke. Are you one of those who had the right to escape from a yoke? There are so who ( Read more... )

Prelapsarian and PitiedSpeed is the great narrator; time and space have only the bent of light, the soft curvature of an acoustic echo, but they were once subject to Speed, only recently intertwined, one might claim, not as they once were, only eidolons divined in the naked dreams of Speed. At high pace, in the space of time, shortened, lengthened ( Read more... )