Tôrnârssuk
To be a true poet is to become God.
To be a poet, I realized, a true poet, was to become the Avatar of humanity incarnate; to accept the mantle of poet is to carry the cross of the Son of Man, to suffer the birth pangs of the Soul-Mothe...
Time sure kicks the shit out of people...
This is some sort of joke, isn’t it? asks Hunt, staring at the flawless blue sky and distant fields. I cough as lightly and briefly as possible into a handkerchief I have made from a towel borrowed fr...
There was a van Gogh on one of the walls, worth more than most planets could pay. It was a painting of the artist’s room at Arles. Madness is not a new invention.
The universe just does not give a shit.
The future is like smoke from a burning forest, waiting for the wind of specific events and personal courage to blow the sparks and embers of reality this way or that.
The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. I
THERE WILL BE NO FURTHER MISUSE OF THIS CHANNEL. YOU ARE DISTURBING OTHERS WHO ARE USING IT TO SERIOUS PURPOSE. ACCESS WILL BE RESTORED WHEN YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT IT IS FOR. GOODBYE
Suddenly a scream froze her in her tracks. It
Sounds like
Sometimes, said General Morpurgo, taking her hand, dreams are all that separate us from the machines.
Sol had not known he was lonely until he met Sarai.
She almost smiled at the justice of it, at her ultimate foolishness in thinking that she could uncage chaos and then control it.
Perhaps Nemes and her kind will keep it in a zoo to hunt it when they are bored.
On the contrary, it made me feel that faith is all the more essential. Pain and darkness have been our lot since the Fall of Man. But there must be some hope that we can rise to a higher level … that...
Odd how the daily imperatives persist even in the face of collective disaster.
Odd how many suffering members of humankind have faced eternity obsessed with their bowels, their bedsores, or the meagerness of their diets.
Mis primeros poemas eran lamentables. Como la mayoría de los malos poetas, yo no me daba cuenta de ello, seguro en mi arrogancia de que el simple acto de crear daba cierto valor a los indignos abortos...