Category: Secret Religion

-The moments race by in your mind; you continue standing in the moment, in the same way you would continue standing in a puddle, even after the flood gates had failed and the ocean swallowed you whole.

-She walked between the daylight and the shadows; definitely not a midday sun. A half of her radiating, and a half of her hidden. How could you have known? We assume from what we know. Lacan did, and we believed his mirror image theory, in the same way we believe in mirrors. She however, was neither. When the sun went down, he learned she was empty, after she disappeared.

-There are a million broken bits.  You hold them all with one hand, like a man  who’s guts burst open. They sag and drip,  like intestines and red plasma. Your arm weakens  under the weight, and some of you  is lost. And pieces remain. You forget which part of you is you.

-And so you think of her. Fully aware she is little more than a friend, and yet you’ve made so many commitments to each other, shared so many milestones, and occasions, in your head. It’s harder to speak with her now, so many memories she doesn’t share.

-April happened. It’s one of those facts. Like the time your friend and her son came over, when he knocked down the only trophy you’d ever won. It shattered into dozens of little pieces. You smiled gracefully, gritting your teeth. She was quite apologetic, your friend. It was nobody’s fault, but yours. Why hadn’t you won more trophies?

Of ourselves-      our actions,      our choices,      of the decisions,      of their consequence;   Of our breath-      our words,      our whispers,      of sighs,      of muttered replies;   Of our pulses and impulses-      our fractured thoughts,      our recursive doubts,      of equivocations,      of illusions;   Of hope-      our dreams,      our ambitions,      of yearning,      of perceived need;   Of disillusion-      our dejection,      our retreat,      of withdrawal      of apathy;        may there be enough redemption,             eventually,      in the end, as we hope,      […]

-Want to dance in the ashes of ruin                        ruminations in concentric circles, spiralling            whispers in rhythm and time                                                                movement blurs all truth Steps toward steps away        as         the tide                                   […]

Sophomoric, I know, But I want to say that in the trajectory of my existence, though I’ve met a million women with the name you bear, it is because of you there is affinity…and so every time I hear it, I take pause, brief as it may be, to remember you, and wonder why your name should be given to anyone other than you, it is you after all who takes it to its greatest meaning and makes it truly mean and this is your name, that to which Stein spoke when she wrote, “Rose is a rose is a […]

-The last act: a winter’s solstice, as time stills in frigid night,   the measures of life, lifetimes and units we construct memory on   approach an end, another beginning, another punctuation, along with graying,   the tree’s month-long residence leaves needles on the carpet,   the loss of occupants, under its branches, leaves the tree all the more ashamed.  

–I grew up there… Where? There, that placeyou could no longer see It used to be thereJust ‘there’Before it changedBefore ‘there’ requiredthe modifiers‘used to be’