March 24th, 2006


bear with me...

We are come in from the cold. We are loud, extraordinarily bright and gorgeous. We cannot help but fall in love with one another, if only for a moment. Each one of us is young and a miracle of vibrancy – perfect. Sex fills the room and broadcasts itself through the brilliant music that drifts down from the ceiling. We cannot die: we are gods.

They will fill volumes about us, and the entire world will know us in our divinity. Our muscles are tensed; we demand heroic romance and the fame, even pleasure, of catastrophic tragedy. When we kill we will be exonerated, envied and even admired. For our destined genocide we will be hailed; in our assured suicide we will be crowned. We are our gods. We are lust and fire.

(no subject)

“If we want to do something but cannot, then before God, who knows our hearts, it is as if we have done it. This is true whether the intended action is good or bad.” Saint Mark the Ascetic

I wrote the previous post while sitting in a coffee shop last night. The whole atmosphere screamed of youth and sex and the desire to find life somewhere, anywhere. It’s easy to be pulled down into the midst of personal power. We were made for glory, but oh how we’ve distorted it all.