Charade

We discover that we do not know our role; we look for a mirror; we want to remove our make-up and take off what is false and be real. But somewhere a piece of disguise that we forgot still sticks to us. A trace of exaggeration remains in our eyebrows; we do not notice that the corners of our mouth are bent. And so we walk around, a mockery and a mere half: neither having achieved being nor actors.

Rilke, The Notes of Malte Laurids Brigge

Living Graves

Living Graves

by George Bernard Shaw 

We are the living graves of murdered beasts,

Slaughtered to satisfy our appetites.

We never pause to wonder at our feasts,

If animals, like men, can possibly have rights.

We pray on Sundays that we may have light,

To guide our footsteps on the path we tread.

We’re sick of War, we do not want to fight –

The thought of it now fills our hearts with dread,

And yet – we gorge ourselves upon the dead.

Like carrion crows, we live and feed on meat,

Regardless of the suffering and pain

We cause by doing so, if thus we treat

Defenseless animals for sport or gain,

How can we hope in this world to attain

The PEACE we say we are so anxious for.

We pray for it, o’er hecatombs of slain,

To God, while outraging the moral law.

Thus cruelty begets its offspring – WAR.

I resent my species.

Humans fucking suck.

Is there any reason to assume the universe had a beginning? The human experience has a beginning, but humans are mere physical consequences. Is the universe really eternal? Thoughts, anyone?

born
abused
lost
found
accepted
rejected
accepted
rejected
lost
broken
found
loved

Root Cellar

Root Cellar by Theodore Roethke

Nothing would sleep in that cellar, dank as a ditch,
Bulbs broke out of boxes hunting for chinks in the dark,
Shoots dangled and drooped,
Lolling obscenely from mildewed crates,
Hung down long yellow evil necks, like tropical snakes.
And what a congress of stinks!
Roots ripe as old bait,
Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich,
Leaf-mold, manure, lime, piled against slippery planks.
Nothing would give up life:
Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath.

You make yourself look tall in your photos, but I know you're not. I know you're my size. You can't hide it; I've seen proof.

I resign to the fact that I will never meet you, now come on, Kierkegaard...