My own particular brand of bleak is firm, and unambiguous enough to recognise our dark as a basic truth: the world-rending fire of the human soul is fearsome, yet only another face of the death seeded so deeply within us. But bleak is neither black nor white, only barren -- and what is barrenness but…Read more Realism.s
again and again overwhelmed by tears that do not come heating my face, burning my eyes, stoppering my throat like a cork in a bottle the possible and the real take a back seat to everything that is not the darkness i feel, like my soul evaporating within c. Kate Gough, 17.11.2017
https://youtu.be/808nTiXLam8 I’m still in this place. Sometimes it seems I never leave. * Gallery, 2014 Imagine, if you will a gallery piece installed, a row of plants at progressing stages of growth, lined up in pots and flash-frozen in time, breathing cold puffs, crystalline almost synthetic. Imagine also the moment the exhibit starts to disintegrate, freeing gouged…Read more Grey
I can’t find my incense. I don’t want to write. I desperately want nothing more than to write. For ever. So then, perhaps I’m just a stymied masochist at heart(less), doomed to miserable inaction for the rest of my days. I do not dedicate myself as I should, as I need. . . There’s a…Read more The Ever-Processing Machine
c. Kate Gough
To possess or be possessed by one's own identity? * The self, the anti-self in dire embrace. * Instead of embracing God, he hugs himself. ~ Theodore Roethke, from The Middle of a Roaring World.
"See how he cowers and sneaks, how vaguely all day he fears, not being immortal or divine, but the slave and prisoner of his own opinion of himself, a fame won by his own deeds. Public opinion is a weak tyrant compared with our own private opinion. . . Think, also, of the ladies of…Read more Thoreau on the (Hu)man
Wrinkles sagging with weariness, Gretel June seated her crooked torso on the last clear surface in the house: a padded footstool. The world swam in complete and terrifying circles around her, and closing her eyes only made it worse. She felt a lump in her throat that had nothing whatsoever to do with her heart, and much more to do with her stomach. Everything swirled so fast! Ancient, knotted hands cupped a steaming mug of hot liquid, which she blew on periodically, but never sipped...
so much laughter...
-- "Faith is not being sure. It is not being sure, but betting with your last cent... Faith is not a series of gilt-edged propositions that you sit down to figure out, and if you follow all the logic and accept all the conclusions, then you have it. It is crumpling and throwing away everything,…Read more A New Proposition
.pearls c. Mary Kathryn Gough
i. my ink Grows greenly in the deep blue Sea of (V a s t, this)night, sending roots down deep, tendrils up and out -- a r OUnD in anticipation of the break (ing of soil,) of dawn and s w e e t a i r ---| but for now, Rest. Satisfied in soily…Read more my ink_
Pivotal definitions in the progression of Kierkegaard's Sickness Unto Death. Despair Self: "The self is the conscious synthesis of infinitude and finitude that relates itself to itself, whose task is to become itself, which can be done only through the relationship to God... the progress of becoming must be an infinite moving away from itself…Read more Kierkegaard’s Sickness Unto Death
Mary Kathryn Gough 11/11/05 Project #2 The Unifying Force of Kafka’s Literature: Drawing a Dual-Hearted World Together in Unity of Spirit "Could not then art and literature in a very real way offer succor to the modern world?" ~Aleksandr.Solzhenitzyn Of all malicious lies, the most sprawling and successful is the one which whispers softly, compellingly,…Read more Literature’s Unifying Force
don't feel like turning myself on my head just to look at the world with new eyes. to see it all through glass or crystal, doesn't matter. burning lava or glowing rubies set in silver -- my heart is blank and empty because everything is(n't) good just the way it is(n't) and that's the way…Read more Matter.
i. wings, great w i d e silverswimming wings overhead drew a single shadow on the ground, in my heart of hearts. darker than the pupils of my eyes, deepdoubletblueand swimmingly azure with unshed tears--- when the heart tears it bleeds bright skyblue(the origin of worldly-wondrous colors is far wider, far more v a s…Read more Wings IV
1Art, Culture, and the Autonomous, Free Humanity of Man; The Universal Applicability of Living in Truth and Accepting Responsibility as Destiny The essence of the conflict… is not a confrontation between two ideologies (for instance a socialist with a liberal one) but a clash between an anonymous, soulless, immobile and paralyzing… power, and life, humanity,…Read more Art, Culture, & the Autonomous, Free Humanity of Man
Photoshop. c. Mary Kathryn Gough, 2002