Is setting the master of the scene? Or are the character granted some inconsolable control? Is it the refracted light absorbed or the echoes from elsewhere vibrating meaning within the cranial prison of self? Or, is it all the amalgamated sensation surmised upon the dawn and dusk of each day? Each year? Of every life?
Monday Evening Thoughts: 8.17.26
Perhaps the lull in ambition arises from a lack of discipline. Or some twisted overfocus on all that isn’t. Perhaps it is but a constant bout with, and of self-denial.
Monday Evening Thoughts: 8.10.26
Is it the ideas that plague me? Or are they the salvation in all this being?
Monday Evening Thoughts: 8.3.26
Outlandish enough to exist. Furious enough to persist. Lines penned in the ether of creativity I found myself in midst on the eve last, before this one we find ourselves currently engaging within.
The Veracious Facade 