prose

Flow, Earth

We haven't room to simply let down our hair and full-Being flow anymore (. . .  did we ever? We try at clubs, through music laughter and loving children, through food and hobbies, but We live lives of stuttering action pinned like fading butterflies to an event-oriented oblivion. It's not modernity but rather the building…Read more Flow, Earth

i dream of rosehip tea.

it was months ago when i picked rosehips along my path home by the sea, slipping each one like a little gold nugget into the pockets of my grey, zip-up jumper. i’d imagined doing it so many, many times, like a child in a candy shop, reaching up to pluck the beauties down; this time,…Read more i dream of rosehip tea.

The Ever-Processing Machine

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

Musingly, Further

Further Always )i’ve a notion tonight that there’s a further way to live than i do, and that it is far from impossible to live. i’ve always believed so, but this feeling tonight is like rubber on the road, like violets peeking out of soil, like music from strings of gut — organic and all…Read more Musingly, Further