Place was everything. She wrapped her surroundings around herself like a cloak, wore the color of the forest in her eyes and felt the grim expression of the cracked mountains play at the corners of her mouth. Place was everything. Taking her from it was detaching her from her life source. When she sunk into nature, she was a tree, roots growing healthier, stronger, as they sank. The vibrance of the wildflowers was infectious. She couldn’t help it hovering upon her cheeks.
Place was everything. When she stood on the street corner, the cement was a cold coat cast upon her shoulders. She sank, melted into its grayness. Apathy was infectious. She could not prevent that numbness that spread across her being. Place was everything. She wrapped her surroundings around herself like a cloak. It was a coat. It was a way to cope. She scorned the memory of the wildflowers. She traded in the mountains for human edifices. She hollowed out her laugh, in a search for humor that ended only in cold irony.
Place was everything. She was the surface of the lake. She was the car window. She was the reflection of her surroundings. She could not help it.
Place is everything. She wraps her surroundings around herself like a cloak. The damp earth is comfortable; it whispers to her that she may rest. Her laugh will be replenished, like a well after the rain. Encased in the earth, at last she is free. Her life has been a shattered mirror. Here there is nothing to reflect. Here she simply is.
Place is everything, death is freedom. At last naked she sinks back into her own Eden.
“Are you sure about this?”
Leda held the opaque vial filled with milky white potion up to her eyes, examining the contents warily.
“I’m tired Rue,” she murmured softly, almost inaudibly.
Leda’s eyes flashed away from the vial and found Rue’s pale blue ones, making a desperate plea. Rue was calmer than ever.
“Trust me,” Rue commanded.
Hesitantly at first, and then suddenly boldly Leda lifted the vial to her lips and sipped. Continue reading Nepenthe
Get into thought
and out of the way
Words can be bought
but not the things to say.
Understand what is without
but know what is within
Can’t you hear your own self shout
amidst the world’s din?
If your ears cannot feed two
and you must make a choice
remember the world has enough people who
have tuned out their own voice.
*The endangered species of Thought faces environmental strains including noise pollution inside and outside of the cerebrum, overpopulation of a neigh-boring species Information, and toxic effects caused by intellectual refuse. The species has faced an exponentially shortening lifespan in recent years, due to predators in the environment that continue mutating into new harmful subspecies (e.g. Radio, Television, iPhone). The Conservation Effort to Prevent the Mass Extinction of Thought encompasses such universal foundations as PATW (Poetry and Thoughtful Writing), MATA (Music and the Arts) and its largest worldwide division CQC (Confusion, Questions, and Curiosity). The individual citizens of Mankind are invited to join the conservation effort by making daily contributions in the form of meditation, artistic feats, and general mental insubordination.
They tell you to just be yourself, that everybody else is already taken. As if you have been out shopping all day, strolling past empty aisles full of empty shelves, searching for the personality you can wear as your costume for the day. Until you finally realise that they’ve sold out of costumes long ago and it looks like you’ll have to go naked after all.
Continue reading Exposé
“I prefer to view my personal universe from the heliocentric model.”
The others rolled their eyes, a manifest of the inward groans felt at such a strain to be sophisticated. Lord, even in their humor they flaunted something of their “brightness”. It was nauseating, the outright admission of this egotistical, narcissistic facet of identity that of course is the only thing that would merit spending any money or, for that matter, time, at such an institution as this. One must have an awful lot of delusions about himself to set himself in a university.
Continue reading On Education (Addendum)
The university students sit in the confines of their desks, heads square and cornered, mere boxes for the minds they are so willingly locking away. They line up their thoughts in this cell, force one of the prisoners towards the gap of their lips. “You,” they say, selecting one carefully, as though they are doing it a great service in setting it free. But there is no liberty in the timid thought. He has been prisoner too long; he has lost his spirit. He has been locked away, made presentable, tamed before his release.
Abide (by the Law), they tell the thoughts. No lawbreakers permitted through these lips. The rest of you, to the corners, the dark corners of this mind. No glimpsing at the world through those window eyes, lest someone on the outside sense your presence. Back against the wall, into the shadows.
Continue reading On Education
Wind buffets from all sides. Clouds hug the edges of the hills like the white for lining of a coat. “It’s time,” I hear the children say. This strikes me odd because I’ve never met a child who was friends with Time. Or anyone, really. Continue reading The Gift of Time