Whether wished or woeful, the words still seem to will their way. To me, or through me- to you, whoever, wherever you are. But the clouds of my own sentience seem to shroud what should be said. If anything even should.
Monday Evening Thoughts: 7.6.26
Even the fullest of lifetimes can only hold so much. Maybe that’s the trick about the whole thing. A singular existence can only contain so many multitudes, no matter the vastness that might otherwise appear to be.
Monday Evening Thoughts: 6.29.26
Whether destined or wrought by design, this dismay cannot continue. The ever-reaching grasp of disdain and animosity must not remain, for if nothing else it promotes and provokes the rot inside, both solo and collectively, even when the illusion of justified opposition appears. But, is that not the way it has always been, for us…
The Veracious Facade 