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Man is a mis-shapen monster with his feet set for-ward and his face set back. He can make the future luxuriant and gigantic so long as he is thinking about the past… to-morrow is the gorgon; a man must only see it mirrored in the shining shield of yesterday.
If he sees it directly he is turned to stone.
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What's Wrong with the World
G. K. Chesterton 1874-1936
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Graphic - Maximilian Pirner 1853-1924
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A Foundation of Nothing
Sometimes there is a strange sort of emptiness. It lies beyond the furthest tree, at the bottom of a deep lake, behind the moon and stars, and under the earth. It is not the emptiness that gnaws and devours, it is not cruel and dark. It holds not the end of things, but their beginning. It is the emptiness that is the possibility for what might be. All that is was crafted lovingly from such strange Nothing. What dreams could be built from it if all knew how to find it?
Blindsides come in every sort of way leaving their disaster behind them when they flash away they're as simple as a missed stop sign crash gifting you with whiplash you need therapy for they're delayed coming only after you realize that that goodbye will never have another hello they're as violent as a sacked quarterback who never walks off the field, leg twisted the wrong way they're as innocent as a routine checkup ending with the diagnosis no one wants to hear they're as delicate as a lover admitting they don't love you anymore and living with the pain of still loving them for years blindsides come as unexpected as a mosquito bite and leave malaria behind as a reminder
c.d. - The Blindside
I woke up today and grabbed my phone to write her again. but by the time I started a new draft I felt so much self loathing. I confessed in one letter today (of three. two short, one decent sized) to being somewhat obsessed in what could be described as a rock bottom epiphany.
Shes coming to visit in a few months and spazzing out is just....I feel so stupid today. just moments after opening my eyes.
I can ask myself what am I building my life for, but I don’t have an answer. Nor do I expect one.
When, then, do I start my goodbyes? Or do I just say nothing and avoid the torture?
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The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well.
But now that I'm awake, I'd rather take a drink and walk down to the lake and beg the sky for lighting bolts. I can't waste my time without wasting all your time. You say it's fixable, a classic case, lack of will. I say I don't wanna try. I'd rather sit here all night.
Alkaline Trio / My Standard Break From Life
