a pretty little tomb

hope is the thing with feathers
that perches on the soul
and sings the tune without the words
and must be promptly killed
with an adequately sized shotgun.
- Emily Dickinson

You ask of me what the matter is

"why is there no word from you?"

"what is there to do?"

We shall fight the fight

till the world end's night.

But only so long as there's hope.

And once it's gone there be little light

neither a point to stay, I fright.

What is done is done, now

all there is left, is to

lay it to rest; maybe

stick a nice flower on top

and call it a pretty little tomb

to something we once held dear.

Comments

the high seas

We are, the stories that we tell our children. “Mom, why did you tell him that dad’s dead?” She knew that this day would come soon enough. She’s in her teen years; you can’t shut her up with the story of her dad being lost at sea. Though, quite frankly, that’s the closest thing to the truth. “Don’t tell me that you still believe that he’ll be back all these years later, do you?” “It’s not about what I believe. You never lost hope; and now I’m thinking you’re…” “Not now” , she snapped. She didn’t mean to, but she did. A small price to pay for living in a house with an antsy teen. “We’ll discuss this later.” She said, more calmly. She knew that this pot was boiling for quite some time now; they both have been feeling the heat. It’s up to her to make sure that it doesn’t boil over. She made a mental note to do something about this situation. But going there was bad enough for her herself, that she did not linger on what exactly is that she’s gonna do about it. ‘Time will pass’, she thou...

THE CAKE IS A LIE!

...just imagine reaching peak satisfaction; not even all the pleasures in the world put together can tempt you at that point, because you don't want anything, you're satisfied... I 've been wanting to write a bit about this topic for a while. Just to put it out there, and out of my head. We humans tend to do most of our animal experiments using two main ways; the first of which is the reward based cycle, where a given test subject (which is of course a lab rat; who are we kidding?) is put in a dingy little cell, and given a little treat every time it does what we want it to do. The second method is quite similar in the rat part and the dingy cell part, but uses a little punishment, like a taste of a taser gun, every time the animal does something we want to condition it not to do. So, I've been thinking a bit about these elegant little training methods, and the genius idea dawned on me that the popularity...

water of life

The horror is neither in death nor in what happened. The horror is in the nature of infinite repetition of what is happening; The horror is in not knowing that you are in an infinite cycle of madness. When I woke up, with the sun and the sea salt in my eyes, I found myself in a lifeboat adrift on an eerily calm ocean. When my eyes adjusted to the blinding daylight, I looked around to find absolutely nothing in any direction as far as the eye can see. It was as If I was plucked out of space and time, and put here, surrounded by just the sea and the horizon. The fact that my thoughts were fragmented did not help either. My name is Captain Winslow; my own first name evades me. It is as if I was hit in the head. I knew the seas, I have grown up on them. Sailing and adventure were in my blood. I did know that I was a sailor, and a marine biologist; but couldn't remember much else. Judging by the position of the sun, I made a guess that it must be somewhere around noon. My marine chron...

× does not compute ×

Search This Blog