As I've aged, I discovered that the most determined way of muddling through time with absent peers is admiring the shared luck and the separate tragedies. In the chaos accounted for in years and letters, this admiration becomes a silent competition– a solicitation of stylish beatings of ideas. Not that reflecting on any of it matters when the sun is high at work. Even the sun can't burn through the desperation conveyed through the lost thoughts of the one who has gone fully unerect, but I remain at finding courage from the mighty slip of the tongue.
"Come and listen carefully a ...Read more
Part I. Memento mori in the morning
There are no new feelings. King of all trades, Joker
Of every suites, Hail Maries and anecdotes, and
Flesh jacks, and entry-level fruits. The no good
Emissaries– them and their memories and drizzle
Of slackly hours, frostily and dwarfing, rendering
Battling fatigue and scours… But there are no new
Feelings. Just fresh druthers speaking in less, and
Less delivers. Some pamper the fire too much– A
Beauty bowl loose to consume the beauty of others,
Painting hell over hell, barter over garter, and a
Meter of pacifism wished in coils, like crows ...Read more
Anarchy of the mind.
I wrote some welcome-to-my-blog remarks, which you can read here.