I used to dream about flying all the time.
Looking out an upper-story window. Walking the ridge of a hill or hiking along the canyon with my family. Leaning over the arc of the bridge. The urge to jump was always there, coiled in my throat.
Author: Rosewyrm
Message at Swordpoint
summer goals
gazing into the abyss
The trick with gazing into the void is to pick the right void in the first place.
I wouldn’t advise the night sky, for instance. There’s too many stars pulsing up there, lighthouses trying to catch your eye, trying to save you from your foolishness. Even if you could peer past their spidersilk weaving, the void is so very big and deep, wrapped all the way around the world and stretching out far beyond the moon, that it would take an awfully long time to notice you. You might not live long enough.
keep breathing
A point is that which has no part, a line is breadthless length. There is a theoretical thought where parallel lines meet, and the angle of a circle to the perpendicular of its diameter is less than a right angle and greater than everything else. Nature is an intrinsic principle of motion, and luck an accidental cause. Gilgamesh is the first epic story we have record of, and mankind was already grappling with glory and death, already keenly aware that we are and are not something more than dust on the wind. God wrote the world word by shining word but every step we make is mortal choice.
Sing your heart a lullaby
Sing your heart a lullaby,
tuck it in to sleep
let the world go spinning by,
give up your need to weep.
a day without time
What is time with no one to sing it to?
vacant eternity, faceless infinity,
tumbling through cosmos
that murdered divinity.
Swords, Shenanigans, Fire and Euclid
I moved up in life into the Overachieving section of Euclid, set fire to the Gearage driveway, and drew blood in the parking lot.
It’s been an interesting week.
fancily wording: an update
So almost half a year after murdering my last camera by taking it on a desert trip, I finally acquired a new one. Time to record the new hand lettering that’s happened since then! No progress pictures, of course – just the random pieces scattered around my room.
Get up.
Here’s what it is, being human: you fall. Again, and again, and again, until your skin is purple and violet and ugly green, until your knees are sticky with blood and there’s gravel ground into your palms, until every time you hit the ground it empties your lungs.
But- wait. Here’s what it is, being human: you get up. And get up, and get up, and get up, until every muscle screams, until it becomes a given/certainty/inevitable, until you’ve drained the dregs of strength and there’s nothing left and still. Get up.