#fallen fayth

Composer of a million generations, whispers while she sips from the moon. Scaled bird of ineffable sacrifice, harvests in the field of the confused. With the season of the sea in her soul, tears of the past and the path she must follow. Sanctuary of soul, mortuary of hope, and the dreams still left here are hollow. A mountain of tales, these memories mattering to some. There is a job that must be done. She will return after she has learned to plow these fields and drink from the Sun.

I have not charged nor looked at my cell phone in over a week. 

They competed for dominion. Their fate unobserved. The warning unheeded. Consumed by time, and sealed for eternity, the haughty creed of once glorious lords.  Locked their fate in the lovely cold, a face caked with crimson, as dark as my thread. Ever so black, I am oracle's side. The confines of validity, the traces of the forms and those deeds of darkness, sparkling world of Sodom storm with lies. Children slain with a stone, the great bitter god from below spread the red water of life.  

Being-alone is a deficient mode of being-with; its possibility is a proof for the latter. I prefer... Freud’s alienation design, essentially, as the estrangement. The "Uncanny" I have argued elsewhere is our modern version of the Sublime. Baffled by the concepts of abandon, and fascinated by the obscurity of my prose, although the art of enchantment sometimes has the most disturbing effects, in that it attracts more or less psychopathic personalities, I still find my ways in immediacy, in intuition, and in nature. Here a genuine analytical argument, being repressed by cosmic drama.

Oh, how adorable.. people on Facebook are quoting my blog. My work HAS been copyrighted for about a year you know... but do enjoy those mirrored spiritual epiphany's.