The Hours are Foul

The hours are foul. The sun sets. I must be gone from this hell, and off to a place of rest. So I bid thee adieu, and move on to the night anew.   7/27/10

Rhetorical Questions

Do we call to arms our great minds for the sake of their minds? Do we not sit upon thrones made of African machine guns? Are these thrones not sitting in the Louvre or the British Museum? Does vanity become a bi product of consciousness, or consciousness a bi product of vanity? Are we slavesContinue reading “Rhetorical Questions”

Sweet Words

Sweet Words, Reach in stare and flight. The hallow trickle of the creek, Oh beautiful voice. So many of clutter and noise. Foul Paranoia, and March on. 10/17/10