Sunday, November 30, 2003
FOLLY OVERFLOW
And now my folly does overflow to poison a blessed stream of reason. I do not mean to taint the things I touch, but my touch is often toxic.
Wednesday, November 26, 2003
REJOICE
All potential for happiness is at last beyond our reach. Now, we may abandon our futile hopes and simply live in this world as it is.
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
My Lord is not arrayed so as to be worshipped by the dawn. My Lord is terrible to look upon and does not desire the notice of thine eyes. And thou art surely not the loveliest of all blossoms.
Monday, November 24, 2003
SUGGESTION
It may be that there are those in the world capable of uncovering the wonders of the world through the wondrous workings of their words.
Sunday, November 23, 2003
One comes along uncovering words. The powers in these uncoverings.
Friday, November 21, 2003
What things may seem to linger in an empty house. This house is not empty.
Thursday, November 20, 2003
I am the newest form of fool.
Wednesday, November 19, 2003
But where are my angels of indifference? Where my angels of hidden agendas? These are the angels who comfort me when I am in the company of humankind. These are the angels who shore up my walls of doubt and paranoia so that I may seek shelter in my own pretended darkness, wrapped up in my tapestry of unbecoming falseness.
Humbug and pshaw.
Surely, on occasion, I can allow myself these angels of tiny delights.
Humbug and pshaw.
Surely, on occasion, I can allow myself these angels of tiny delights.
This is not a life meant to be lived. Nothing in it can be practiced or applied.
Sunday, November 16, 2003
I am infested with angels.
Saturday, November 15, 2003
FORSAKEN
I am not meant for being a voice in any wilderness. I do not do well in the out of doors. My voice has a tendency to emit a fat, creamy noise, then crack. This is not for me. My voice is not so composed to be that of a lone prophet. I am without vision. I am without faith. The divine has no interest in me.
The dignity in life is whittled into slivers.
Wednesday, November 12, 2003
All has been well for some time. Now, quite without warning, a growing sense of menace. A dread washes over me as it might wash over some prey beast upon catching the scent of one that would devour it.
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
Certainly, this was not intended as a thing to cause fear or dread. Certainly. Certainly, the fear is not intended. Yet, the things that one might fear. In all of human history, in all the vast galleries of human consciousness, if one could name each thing that has, at one time or another, been feared by this person or that, how we would laugh. We would have some empathy at times. At times we would share the fear. At times we would be filled with the same dread that filled this or that person at that time or this. The laughter, however; surely this would dominate.
Monday, November 10, 2003
The rising one now having arisen must look ahead in disbelief. Faith is not a quality to be resurrected once the soul itself has been given over to decay.
Sunday, November 09, 2003
Here then, is the Prince of Slim Blades slitting myth. The veins of myth have opened up upon me. The blood of myth has fallen on me, not a shower, not a flood nor bath, but I am bathed in this blood. I wish for it never to dry and flake away.
Saturday, November 08, 2003
See how the angel of the void approaches slowly. Everything neglected or forsaken is transformed into a slowly approaching angel. The angel is determined though slow in its approach. It will achieve its goal will the angel of the void, the angel of meticulous will. It will achieve its goal to meet you.
Wednesday, November 05, 2003
Once I knew the language of angels. This language is gone now. It never did exist, yet I spoke it fluently. There are no angels to listen, so it may be good that the language is gone. When I spoke it, a void opened before me in the very ether. It did not draw me, but I was drawn to the void.
Tuesday, November 04, 2003
That part of the brain which generates language. That part which. The brain is a brain that generates language, yes, but I am attempting here to speak of the brain's language generator. I cannot think of the name. It may be a section, a lobe. It may be a mere sliver of brain of which I attempt to speak.
Monday, November 03, 2003
Better Angels
The better angels of our nature all have fled. The tiny, shining angels. The ineffective angels. The antibody angels against malignant iniquities fled. Defeated in us, they search for some new being less complex, more open to assistance and heavenly intervention.
Sunday, November 02, 2003
W
There is this deadly industry continues on unabated.
