a WRITE_1
of passage

passage: from περᾰ́ω (peráō)

to go from one side to another

to pass through, over or traverse, cross, esp. over water

(intransitive) to penetrate or pierce (of a pointed weapon)

This afternoon

Updated: Dec 11, 2022

This afternoon I am sad

and would like to cry

but something just inside of me

softly, stealthily

is screening me from tears

This afternoon I am alone

and would like to smile

the bittersweet emotion

playing, flickering

in my eyes, cheeks and lips

This afternoon I am lost

and would like someone to find me

Just the warm grasp of

a glance or a shrug would be

perhaps more than I could bear

Ashes

Updated: Dec 11, 2022

And if I choose you,

will you then decide to leave

me, with just the fragments

of our time to hold onto?

And if I share my heart,

will you then hide your soul

behind pretenses and

walls designed to obscure?

And when I love you,

will you then find that

I am simple and plain, and

not worth your attention?

And if you let me

stay then with you, will

you leave me eventually

with nothing but grey ashes?

The sand lifts the sky, nudging it out of reach and hiding it in a blurry, smudgy yellowy-brown. Below, the ground is still, waiting, as it always does. I sit in my cold, dry fake air and wonder if I’m unknowingly preparing for a life on Mars. Was Bowie the canary?

I consider this. Well, perhaps not, and instead I decide he was just a genius-or-maybe-schizophrenic addled by too much occult and the hall of mirrors created by fame. So, conversation dissolving into a social media soup are we now all stuck in an Alice in Wonderland hall of mirrors á la MK Ultra mind control experiment? Maybe. Who ever said Revelation would be pleasant?

And the fake air continues to chill my skin and numb my mind with its bland emptiness. It’s like the dull, dry husk of a desiccated animal – nothing there and no sign that it was ever alive. “Now you too can be cleaned, cooled and contained into an oblivion of uniformity.” Hell is not some fiery abyss filled with pain and heat – that at least might burn up the apathy of comfort. It’s the cold empty nihilism of sanitised life.

21 2224 25

COLLECTIONS

DEATH BY AGREEMENT

some seem to have agreed a pact for passage.
tidings hard to fathom.

STRANGE WATERS

experimental forms and thoughts that seem to come from elsewhere

AS IT IS

here now: this is what we find, this is what we see, this is what finds us

TRACERY

second and third associations. words and shapes.

Where fairies dream (1024x683)_edited.jpg

ANGRY RED SUN, PALE SHADOWED NIGHT

a second stab at a book-style tranche of writings. formed in the end not entirely how it was intended.

THROUGH LIGHT

first steps. written mostly past midnight through dawn. night muse visitations.

WHO AM I?

Strandloper, edge-dweller, being. Sometime poet.

This site began as insomnia. Soon there were enough words for a book (Through Light). A little later, another collection was almost a book (Angry Red Sun, Pale Shadowed Night). Then came snatches of someone's thoughts from somewhere (As It Is). Dark tidings have also been received (Death by Agreement).
Along the way there are words on a plane (Tracery).

)

WRITE_1: a write of passage.

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a WRITE_1 of passage