tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55965772012-01-05T08:18:35.783-08:00My Raven Is A Blue Eyed Beast <br> (this time i promise will be perfect...)Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.comBlogger4241100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-3022202427291326422011-05-23T23:08:00.001-07:002011-05-23T23:10:02.317-07:00

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Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-28985028701259313982010-09-23T23:15:00.000-07:002010-09-23T23:21:01.099-07:00

As I Passed Linlithglow(one...last...time)Last train homeI've got to be on itEdinburgh is closed to meAll fog and chill and humidityA rail squared, speed undeterminedAs the lights dimmingAs the lights between BishopbriggsAnd Falkirk High fade againstThese tinted windows that frame-Glasgow approaching and CroyA whisper of luminescence alongA sea of hedgerows and inebriated brethren asQueen Street

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-49514408901174848752009-12-14T23:41:00.000-08:002009-12-15T01:10:00.389-08:00

Dig your metal inpierce me deep andTaste the sini don't rememberWhat it feels like to...feel;i sense the creepingSlow shutter speed movementsreleasing little fingers that clickAt receivers, optically challengedmyopic deceivers-No signal, no signal, no signal!just static and starsThe chill and the scars...'Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet,And Death riding home on a cloud he did meet

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-7615779506741758952009-11-04T19:03:00.001-08:002009-11-04T19:18:12.790-08:00

A King of PromiseA Child of DoubtA Prince of PassionNow a Mute whoseVoice wants out...You don't remember, nor do I, do I, do I, so why fight...Lucy30 Seconds to Mars/This Is War "This Is War"To the right, to the leftWe will fight to the deathTo the Edge of the EarthIt's a brave new world from the last to the first

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-38876769126637406912009-09-06T21:45:00.000-07:002009-09-06T21:46:23.258-07:00

I am not a dead manThough at timesThe life of meDrains to joinThe morning mist...

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-59602515664425298822009-03-25T18:15:00.000-07:002009-03-25T18:51:18.303-07:00

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Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-79335076267535235192009-03-10T23:28:00.000-07:002009-03-10T23:36:58.591-07:00

My empty hands linger across the winter windowsill/ crystalline/ fogged/ frail/ I watch the West take her shape/ lithe/ tender/ tumultuous/ Worry calls my name/ replaces wonder/ What has transpired here/ whilst my once crystal spire clouds/ Catharsis come/ steady/ painful/ passioned/ Once a time upon my life/ I whispered love non-verbally/ messages/ signals/ selfish/ Forgiven and free/ my voice a

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-81641088431737282642009-02-19T09:55:00.000-08:002009-02-19T11:23:26.869-08:00

I drink too much coffeeEuropean and boldA taste like darkness overInnviertel, and there are daysThat I can’t breathe-Like a Puritan pressingI find lust tinged by theUngodly hour I wakeWondering what thisMoment holds for WienBut I am sure the S-BahnRuns at full speedDedicated passersby ofThat magical city caughtIn 1913-There between the EastAnd Westerly windsThat carry her scent acrossThe wires

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-59727673891136032982009-01-24T22:25:00.000-08:002009-02-19T11:23:55.664-08:00

Faked, like love at last breathBreathe it, break it, own it-At midnight my children congealPieces of flighty thoughtsReturn on black wings over meBut at sea, nothing, caps and curlsThe way your hair falls across my neckAt last breath...You- at last breath, betray me, again and again and again and again...LucyThe Almost/Southern Weather "Everything That Makes Me Sick"NIN/Beside Me In Time "Beside

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-80640879576625946112008-12-14T22:10:00.000-08:002008-12-14T22:16:15.965-08:00

Purity, A CoveringColor me coldArtificial and unseeingBlanket me in boldErratic and constrainedUnderneathWhere whispers weepI’ve got the Devil in my handA dark angel undying to grantA cool and cloying slumber...Among one, a multitude, cacophony, catastrophe kisses, passionless wishes, sleep, sleep...Herr LuciKaskade/Strobelight Seduction'4 AM (Adam K and Soha Radio Edit)'There's a wayO There's a

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-84306097996745085952008-12-08T21:31:00.000-08:002008-12-08T21:33:56.172-08:00

FlickerlightFlickerlightAxiomatic and contriteBeneath the undulating loveWe direct actionsTo scenes we’ve seenBut we don’t believeIn the play we perpetrate-Deceit, like love lays sweetAmong funeral flowersAlong windy and windingTyrolean streetsWhereas once aTime we upon dreamedOf great mountainsGreater skies quickly turnedGray and now, sleep comesHome to claim theFlickerlightAxiomatic and

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-68081793904958380012008-12-02T21:36:00.000-08:002008-12-02T21:46:28.845-08:00

DescendI, in moments, breathe Glasgow-Husk of an industrial giantThe entrails of yesteryearWinter falls, the chill rises againAnd thenDES C E N D SAll the while we pretendWe can love again, butNevar again, Nevar againThis beginning is an endNowDES C E N DDES C E N DTill we find an endTill we find an endTill we find...Why rebel if there is nothing permanent in oneself worth

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-523339665559678462008-09-29T18:20:00.001-07:002008-09-29T18:26:31.929-07:00

Cumulonimbus We put the children to bedThe sailors we went to seaAndAbove the leagues of dreamless sleepThe monsters crawlThe monsters creep***Accessing the endI imagined it all, like a confectionersDelight I tasted saccharine andThe brine was gently brushed fromMy Salton Sea, shallow and unclean***I could walk away from it allTurn my back from theWhat if’s to the what isAnd what next, nothing

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-79924216025170324512008-08-29T14:03:00.001-07:002008-08-29T14:26:03.283-07:00

These Tears Are Terrible Things(Fog and His Mistress, the Moon)I can’t breathe/ here among the reeds/ sleep defined and muscles signed/ up and above theirtones/ hues and hurts and helps/ among, among, among/ options exist to terrify/ questions exist to mollify/ and I exist to take wing, to fly/ forever broken heart/ alone in the dark/ floors with quiet tiles/ mausoleums and manor homes/ make

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-47448583462718506602008-08-16T13:20:00.000-07:002008-08-16T13:47:25.625-07:00

Free(me=D2/E)Glaswegian nite life, alright,It's all right, wind whippedShadows lie like sentinelsAnd these remains remain the sameDarkness, the Moon-Passionless your voice is my ownBut nothing's there, my mind a trickUnto the endless repetition of air inAnd air out, all aboutUnfinished-With a quizzical eye, blue and brineSalt licorice and empty skyEdible, unintelligible worldWords made worthless

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-91169022715511522752008-07-29T06:03:00.000-07:002008-07-31T15:16:10.003-07:00

Sincerely, Mr Skeleton HandsI'm not dead-yet, just deep in sleepBeen atop the Western WorldWhile the lives of the EastWeep among deep swellsAnd over ocean wavesWould you break me down'cause these knees could useSome fresh scars...***everything-closedcracked, concealedit hardens, congealsunrelenting it feels-organic here, climbinginto the mausoleumwith shaky handswhere every ashen eyeis closed,

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-55796089677919197742008-06-19T05:20:00.000-07:002008-06-19T05:38:58.087-07:00

The Philosophy of RevisionismWanting to carry the carnageThe King of the Carrion, whoFrom rent beaks to broken peaksIn a sky alight with the glory ofStars long gone cold, chilledAs the insides of feather linedDenials, betrayals and a fireRises in bleeding hearts-Apart from the futureAll things remain the sameSilence, Solace, Simple improprietyNothing satisfies when hunger ceasesNothing magnifies

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-72506671232611208782008-06-07T04:56:00.000-07:002008-06-07T05:34:27.461-07:00

Excerpt from Henry Jekyll's Full Statement of the Case...The pangs of transformation had not done tearing him, before Henry Jekyll, with streaming tears of gratitude and remorse, had fallen upon his knees and lifted his clasped hands to God. The veil of self-indulgence was rent from head to foot. I saw my life as a whole: I followed it up from the days of childhood, when I had walked with my

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-76312811348328401172008-05-02T10:01:00.000-07:002008-05-02T10:20:54.642-07:00

AntarcticaYou've been sitting in the darkGuarding your heart with emptyArms and endless eyesIn a cavern of cold you'veBecome what you despiseHeartless, still hungryLost but not onlyQuick it all disappears as theRising tide rises again...***she's weeping in the back room, baby I won't be gone for long...but she goes on weeping quietly now at my feet, watering my leather and worn shoes with the

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-90083934213413745592008-04-07T15:05:00.000-07:002008-04-07T08:13:42.277-07:00

Anaerobic(living in the absence of oxygen)i can't draw the line deep enoughthe red won't run fast enoughand God i'm clutching this corpseto my chest, trading heat for hurtat the bottom of an endless oceancatching frostbite while i'm tradingthese ashes for icicles-brokenon the floor, now out of breathsucking up the siltswallowing the brineand burst lungs leavemy chest open and barebut there's

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-63719432048225138822008-03-29T04:33:00.000-07:002008-03-29T16:04:58.191-07:00

My Leprous Heartout of touch, touching the timethe failure dates are signingon the dotted line, licensingmy sin and everything fallsinto and through the cracksemotionless and apoplecticmy burned white heartall amidst the embersyears in silence wanderedand wanted and warned oftill frail fingers break offthe myriad bits of brokennessleaving leprosy lingeringas this life becomesa cancer unto itself.

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-13079410727030556252008-03-18T16:19:00.000-07:002008-03-18T16:26:06.196-07:00

'If I ride the wings of the morning,if I dwell by the farthest oceans,even there your hand will guide me,and your strength will support me...'Psalm 139:9-10and like a Mother's touch, that which lingers is love...Lucy

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-35413580142801740652008-03-14T14:27:00.000-07:002008-03-14T14:36:04.115-07:00

Dead Vessels(the mary celeste and me)One nite I went into the seaMet the Mary Celeste andNow she’s betrothed to meBuried my hurt beneathHer folds in that empty holdAsleep amidst our emptinessFelt the heaving trough unfurlA wicked weaving worldNow splinters underneath my nailsAs I’m digging for redemptionBetween the barrels of brokennessEmptied at the inopportune timeI went through the

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-62314268041681344722008-02-27T15:14:00.000-08:002008-02-27T15:20:17.791-08:00

I want to swallow it all,like a great mouth in the sea,baleen for teeth,straining the world of her knowledgeand drowning the rest in the catharsis...whatever remains of me, if i make it back, you'll find in the fallow fields...I'm a fake, I'm a fake, I'm a fake!LucyThe Used/In Love And Death "I'm A Fake"

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-8240617855446704702008-02-17T14:42:00.000-08:002008-02-17T15:20:28.434-08:00

A Ghost On The Windwe froze at first glance,strangers yet symmetrical-old friends who danced aroundanswers that lay in dormant statesand you, a question unto yourselflay lullaby syllables and smilesat my feet- yet a dark complexionkept the joy from my facea mask you see, carbon and craftedsituates the struggle underneatha man without a hata cape without a batmerely a force forced upon itselfand

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-28941556013142594342008-02-09T14:20:00.000-08:002008-02-09T15:32:45.433-08:00

On the Eve of the End of the WorldIf you’re built of starsIlluminate meImmolate my faultsFind factors to fractureBleed me out until I’m ashesIf you’re built of scarsLeave lines of lossAll along my spineSplinter all the sprainsLet me fall apartIf you’re built of starsBlind my mindMake motions modifyActions and allowMy heart to healIf you’re built of scarsStitch up the strainsSilhouette the

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-72234001862905250692008-01-29T15:48:00.000-08:002008-01-29T16:32:50.732-08:00

I Lack the Breadth, the Width, the Depth(une douleur irrépressible)i live through youas the quiet unassuming oneas a shadow in constant flightdancing around your edgesbecause you are so beautifully brightand i am humbled (ciselure je t'aime)sunken at your statei hide behind a small stareand a fathomless drivebeneath my whispered wants (pour je t'aime)i'm winging under a wild windmy heart hungry

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-84957332912359050522008-01-26T06:53:00.000-08:002008-01-26T07:27:29.845-08:00

Imagine this, rain in Glasgow, me in the library and the University spire staring back at me. Rivers run down the window before me and a chill seeps through the double-panes. I'm supposed to be working on my paper, whichever paper that is, but I've been in this seat for the past week, each day, typing, typing, trying to type away. So much is going on with applications and funding and the

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-26157479888652848372008-01-18T15:53:00.000-08:002008-01-18T15:57:37.519-08:00

Pig Iron HeartSlagged off into oblivionPrecious metals melted toTheir bitter ends, corditeMade contrite and echoingHigh but un-reprisedA dark star action metedOut to an abyssal surprisePelagic creatures fromThe underneath, a cavernPalace fit for the Necropolis’Queen, the place where IWas born and borne to dieA pig iron heartMade contrite and echoingHigh, now the duality reprisedA pig iron heart

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-91784577109337222512008-01-09T16:12:00.000-08:002008-01-09T16:29:43.141-08:00

The Menagerie(collections of concerns)This is not how I like to remember youThose tears in the drivewayOur cars splitting that winter dayThe long drive to schoolAnd you, flipping California the birdMonths asleep the window wideQuiet memories made more vividAs distance dulled the damageTill over the waves and wiresA whisper, all other sounds consideredBut in my sleep I still kissed your

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-72526618292124667102007-12-30T16:25:00.000-08:002007-12-31T05:14:53.563-08:00

do you remember writing these words?"i never used to cry. not in a crowd, not alone, not on someone's shoulder...**** never cries. somehow though, you have changed me, changed me irreparably, and i fear i shall never be the same. my tears come at odd moments and for odd reasons; when i hear a certain song that reminds me of you, of how i feel about you...when i came out of the anesthetic a few

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-51189271006640467452007-12-25T16:31:00.000-08:002007-12-25T16:37:26.825-08:00

Empty MotionYour memory bruisesWrite in deep to cutMy cobalt heartEverything is awkwardEverything is denseO the weight of the world, so heavyLove actually hurtsLove actually deniesLove actually is the kiss of deathIn my quiet, gentrifying lifeMeteor sky ablazeBut it’s your infinite eyesThat will always hold mineWith undelivered lullabiesAs we kiss I declare myHeart is no longer mineJUST WHISPER!I

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-5774431077172829502007-12-14T09:39:00.000-08:002007-12-14T09:42:41.808-08:00

My Eyes Are OpenSwimming in the sea of my sleepI see your blue eyesShining like the specters in myFavorite dream and as I struggleTo speak something wonderfulFlickers in this dark heartInterest and bruised passionCall out aqueous and cleanAcross the static of myMost cherished beliefAnd I am freeAnd I am freeAnd my eyes are open...peruse the pointless paths but bring me back, Tyrol awakens...Herr

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-89132207019267404002007-12-07T16:52:00.000-08:002007-12-07T16:55:15.645-08:00

There are mountain ranges in my living room...

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-39340815221860283312007-12-04T17:01:00.000-08:002007-12-04T17:06:10.426-08:00

Waking With A Ghost(Hunger For A Moment Gone)All against the worldYou can’t hear me screamingFrom this distanceI’ve never been so highFalling’s never felt so goodAnd I’m alightAflameAfireinsideFeeding the fortificationI’m a castleI’m a clownI’m a cruel boyMaking mad plans to be a manWaking with a GhostHungering for a moment GoneYou’re not the sameAnd I’m still not tameBurn me out! Just burn me

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-88976146338916192492007-12-01T08:59:00.000-08:002007-12-01T14:36:50.306-08:00

The Pear Tree(war and peace and the people in between)putting our initials in the pear treewe whispered lullabies and betterleft the leaving alone, as we lay aloneunder the shady leaves in late augustof 1913, before i went to warand you went on to become freefrom all the preconceptions that younow hold against me-i lined up for waryou bought the bondsand drank your teaand socializedand forgot

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-81130851336830585452007-11-23T15:27:00.000-08:002007-11-23T15:32:54.833-08:00

The Deciduous Warlittering the worldo my god! how could this be?a hundred thousand forms fallen at my feetred and brown and yellowgangrene edges and empty armscurled and crushed and carelesslyleft in disarraythis is the aftermathto dust the wind cries, to dust!and i only want their colorto last,my kaleidescope carpet... carry my embers to askelon....Herr LuciThe Doves/"Blackbird"

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-61882896106608913762007-11-18T15:48:00.000-08:002007-11-18T16:10:42.232-08:00

I Lay Here In The Dark (chasing after my heart)I wonder if the years have dulled me somehow. Wandering years, years divulged with only a modicum of purpose, years that set beside me and walked a ways, a long, long ways with me. I am not at a loss for purpose, just purposefully lost? I've been wondering as I've been wandering, what this whole journey is for. And not just Scotland, a country

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-54615424840057282912007-10-27T10:58:00.000-07:002007-10-27T11:33:45.975-07:00

The Terrible GardenerFallow ground. All this area, all this soil, it has all lain fallow. Years echo with the autumnal hum of firework vegetation and the steady pattern of failing rain. Harvest upon harvest that ended in failure abound in recent memory and thus all fields lie fallow. The ground is fresh, moist, it breaths a weighty scent into the air and beneath my feet it responds like a

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-91236481984387093622007-10-09T15:13:00.000-07:002007-10-09T16:04:51.470-07:00

The Effect Or Non-Effect Of Dissipating Alliance'sThis urgent solace longing overcomes the barricades and hunger drains into me. Why does this need for aloneness, this desire for desire for dissipation strike so greedily? As one borne of the middle how do I even begin to conceive of the beginning let alone the end? Only hunger remains, for what and when I cannot construct. My framework

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-11449825175820824972007-10-09T06:33:00.000-07:002007-10-09T08:11:42.113-07:00

Building The Wall(existentialism vs the waves and wires)When I was a boy I spent my days in thought. These thoughts shaped me through there purely imaginative form in which I was always embarking on some heroic quest or rescue against some nearly unstoppable foe whose devious machinations held the innocent down. Borne from a love of books, the fantastical stories of CS Lewis, Tolkien, JM Barry,

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-56421780273266770892007-09-28T16:06:00.000-07:002007-09-28T16:09:17.089-07:00

As The World Winds Down... There’s something ugly on the edge of my tongueAnd it’s lingering with a vengeanceLittered from the hours lacking sleepAngels form angles that taunt the enemiesThat claim victory to my defeatThe weight of my failuresYears stressed in their makingHave now been hung over meI’ll be honest in my uglinessIn my wretched conditionTragedy is

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-25217840464936968052007-09-21T08:11:00.000-07:002007-09-21T08:54:59.446-07:00

I'm alive...still breathing, or something to that effect...www.isleofalba.blogspot.comisle of scotland is the meaning, I'll be running on this too, but for my life outside of mental anguish or inside ;) check thereLove,Lucy

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-88094090100723097232007-09-15T22:35:00.000-07:002007-09-15T22:43:03.416-07:00

Upon The Edge Of The Everlasting... Hours ticking like a clock is slickly sending me off hours tick tock ticking and I yet to stick a toe into an Ocean worth sticking it in...How you explain it is everything...How you contain the experience is another way of thinking, extrapolating, the notions all evaporating in the warming conscience of the developing soul...We tried...

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-58303830421282134772007-09-13T22:20:00.001-07:002007-09-13T22:21:10.195-07:00

I can't wait till this world burns out and let the word be about the word and the way the word works when the world and her ears are torn and turned around...Dreams are but unrecognized realities, faint, imperceptible, but hidden on the edge of longing and self deceit...We speak in code because we are...afraid to believe in one another? Afraid to lose one another? Afraid that God might in fact

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-81691853573854655572007-09-08T22:29:00.000-07:002007-09-08T22:50:23.892-07:00

I don't know where to even begin...hush your lips lover...she's a wicked thing, but a beauty queen whose intellect exceeds me and I am falling down, like the little child in the overalls clinging to his mothers gown...salem speaks to me in whispers and screams and occasionally on sunny days between the undying showers of mid may she reminds me of my oath...lover you should have come over...all

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-11388977692775516312007-09-06T21:42:00.000-07:002007-09-06T21:43:51.741-07:00

I'm the last one alive...or so it seems. Three departures, four by tomorrow, then all that is left is me. I'm ready, I can feel the stink of stagnation raging on my form. God knows who I become and who I have been, thus in His infinite wisdom and grace He divines to send me away from the valley of my birth. The world is wide, wicked and unwelcome; but His command is to love it nonetheless.

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-68838187146358194592007-08-19T21:58:00.000-07:002007-08-19T22:39:58.664-07:00

Surely this conflict in my soul is true...distance and time leave us here estranged, if only in terms of spatial equations...

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-41446743955677620352007-08-13T21:40:00.000-07:002007-08-13T21:43:19.941-07:00

Alba ag fánaíocht mac(Alba’s wandering son) “To be dead means to have to live. That irritates our natural thinking. Being dead is not deliverance, salvation or the final possibility of escape—on the contrary, flight into death is flight into the most terrible servitude to life. The inescapability of life as commandment—that is the knowledge of death.”[1] My words

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1184555720214508632007-07-20T17:04:00.000-07:002007-07-20T17:16:02.615-07:00

Semantically Speaking(an inability to fake ignorance)The Sun engages in potentialities much like the future is merely waiting for your presence. Our continuous orbit much like Hegel’s conception of a circular time advancing steadily on a true plane affords both the present and the past a quiet assurance of the coming future. Revolution finds realization in itself, much like man desires

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-7874487143537278012007-07-08T23:34:00.000-07:002007-07-09T23:17:31.266-07:00

I Fe(e)ll Unsteady(unread and unready)Slashed across the sky, a hint, a rend, a hurt and a bitter demonstration of the quiet sound that the heart can make when the patient one's die. In my own mind I'm watching the working class as they mine the deepest core, searching for the treasure none dare to dream and when receiving cast off with scorn, all this world is in disarray. Coal's daughter is

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-30528867049318741832007-06-25T22:25:00.000-07:002007-06-25T22:41:28.798-07:00

Five Steps To Knighthooda self induced, melancholy melody, the soft side of an echo, the lessening of a harsh lesson, all wrapped in the rapturing gaze of your sea side smile, your pearl white teeth, such a marbled and chiseled face, all cherished, and there garnished by your onyx eyes...a wave, unlike any other wave, waving, cresting, descending like leaves, like badly withered tea leaves,

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-87864207591256708602007-05-22T17:58:00.000-07:002007-05-22T18:19:45.638-07:00

Now, Recess; Or Plus One Day Minus Seven Hours This sonic landscape, stutter, stutter, step, stutter, stutter, step, bruising and realistic against the back beat of heathen stars. Swallow me down, quick now, this burgeoning heart is bursting at the sides and the seams are stretching beyond me. Isn’t it so typical to engage in this fashion of passion? You remember that nite on the floor? But

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-43584567234527234592007-05-07T23:26:00.000-07:002007-05-08T12:30:14.673-07:00

This Window Waits-Open and Ashamed...The windows wide open, wide, wide open and all of Salem spills at my feet. It smells like spring, like the glorious rebirth of dormant buds and broken dreams. The earthworms must be having a feast because whenever I walk barefoot I can feel the beat of their fierce hearts in heat. Do you remember Salem spread across low hills and bordered by the cautious

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-20168865203341910322007-05-04T00:20:00.000-07:002007-05-04T00:27:26.606-07:00

The Glass Of Illussia(snow white’s crystal casket)In passionless slumberWaiting on the coldSo coolly and cruellyRefreshing like theBack of the North WindOn a winter’s day, aWarm winter’s day at that-Soft timbre’s echoing,You see stars, I’m caughtIn pine trees, scent is anAlly, an enemy is sleepYet sleeping continuesAs I, in passionless slumberWaiting on the waking-The moment, the messianic,So

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-35491849417702162932007-04-20T23:23:00.000-07:002007-04-20T23:24:30.426-07:00

Pollyanna(Of The Glaswegian Shore)It’s almost timeAnd outside the openOcean is beckoningAnd O! The Pacific’s scornSuch a brutal blow toThe boy that loved herBest of all, but she hasReviled me and whenComfort was neededShe turned her backTurned her back on meSo now I reach outFleeing from the foamOf my forgotten loveAnd against the roughRocks of AlbionI look to make my home...Home, all I want to

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-65337061913947427362007-04-19T22:58:00.000-07:002007-04-19T23:01:10.828-07:00

Pollyanna #@*!California’s cursing me outAnd I’ve got a frustrated voiceThat I no longer let take thisSelf doubt and I plagiarize myOwn examination, my ownExecution-but for an instantI blamed it on this Oregon weatherI blamed it on my lust for rainAnd for a momentYou were dancing in my armsAgain, through the frostedShower glass, steamy tendrilsAgainst soft skin and I was holdingOnto the ephemeral

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-55018880792558689852007-04-08T08:42:00.000-07:002007-04-08T08:45:06.998-07:00

Matthew 28:1-71 After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb. 2 There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. 3 His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow. 4 The guards were so afraid of him that they shook

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-84079535253289868192007-04-07T23:00:00.000-07:002007-04-07T23:06:22.596-07:00

The Leveling GroundWaiting on solutionsWoken from infinite slumberStarry-eyed hosts asVacant as echoingMouths made of stoneGaping at wide woundsMade in the fresh earthenClay as all the world proclaimsCalvaria! Calvaria!Hasten the dayWoken on solutionsAnd the world proclaimsCalvaria! Calvaria!Herr Luci

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-76667240059715316312007-04-06T23:37:00.000-07:002007-04-06T23:41:04.344-07:00

Isaiah 53:3-6He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised and we esteemed him not. Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-78480125053700440982007-04-04T22:20:00.000-07:002007-04-04T22:21:37.355-07:00

The Fathomless Floor(silver into my soul) Diamonds stare through veilsChocolate coffee dark and unsure-Defenestrating, I am asking theMagic question, whence doesThe fever come-passionless,Now fertile boughs ladenWith unrealized potentialBreaking under the weightlessNature of an un-tethered soulAs the world recoils, recanting,Leaving me so far away-Drifting on pine scentHarsh bark, palm and

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-14779803560209740442007-03-30T22:56:00.000-07:002007-03-31T14:13:12.472-07:00

Envelope(d) In Red(my questions linger)Nothing left to exchangeHidden all your hurtBubble wrapped your hateAnd now you’re lookingOnce again for thatPiece of your heartYou passed off as merelyStrange behaviorNothing left to desireMade to unmakeBuilt to burnAnd now you’re hungryOnce again for thatPassionate embraceYou gave up as merelyStrange behaviorNothing left but emptyWorking with

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-81173196038928624862007-03-05T23:37:00.000-08:002007-03-05T23:40:54.910-08:00

And We As Children DreamtI woke at dawn to drink the black milk of daybreak, never knowing the hunger it would instill. The world was revolving a tick slower than usual, the pulse humming beneath the soft skin of the universe ever slightly slower than usual. I can see the bubbles rising from the ground beneath my feet, a feat in itself, to rend matter as I have learned, as I am learning to do.

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-61252673886792922852007-02-28T22:57:00.000-08:002007-03-01T09:56:42.816-08:00

When Men Become Monsters(detestable expressionism)“O great affliction, God himself is dead!” I remember those words, the first taste of them in my mind and my minds eye desiring to repudiate them. But they were not the whole story, no, not nearly the whole story. Johann Rist would continue the stanza; “He died upon the cross/ In this he won the kingdom of heaven/ for the love of us.” There are

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-48626785749563593692007-02-13T21:50:00.000-08:002007-02-13T21:53:28.995-08:00

Dear Mr. Seidler:I am writing to inform you that after a careful review of your application we are, unfortunately, unable to offer you admission to our graduate program. (Please forgive us for conveying this information by e-mail. I prefer receiving letters myself, but letters take days in transit and e-mails only seconds. I thought that it made sense to convey the news to you as quickly as

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-49855081588711785822007-02-01T20:59:00.000-08:002007-02-01T21:24:49.308-08:00

ON THE WAY OF THE CREATORIs it your wish, my brother, to go into solitude? Is it your wish to seek the way to yourself? The linger a moment, and listen to me...You call yourself free? Your dominant thought I want to hear, and not that you have escaped from a yoke. Are you one of those who had the right to escape from a yoke? There are so who threw away their last value when they threw away their

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-57194561114088715982007-01-30T22:07:00.000-08:002007-01-30T22:58:49.009-08:00

Christ-child FaithI hung my hopes highNot recognizing the everTightening clasp at my neckJesus Christ must have feltThis magnified innumerableAnd above everything IHope He believes in me...Last night I turned around and thought I saw the world ending...RavenSmashing Pumpkins/MACHINA (The Machines Of God) "Wound"

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-89470858604698713042007-01-20T20:49:00.000-08:002007-01-20T22:07:15.211-08:00

wake up child, how long have you been sleeping? the eyes of Orion are shining down upon your hiding place and the entirety of your existence is bare before the onslaught of time. won't you wake up child, i've been here, clamoring at your door(s) for days on end and still the reply is in denial.here the scene, shifty and serene, quiet, chilled and filled with unbelief turns to ash, homes of ash,

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-90928408855993013052007-01-01T11:59:00.000-08:002007-01-02T00:41:37.636-08:00

'One day we'll wave helloAnd wish we nevaR waved goodbye'Billy Corgani've got to sing my song/while i still can...Herr Luci

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-41585557783226540042006-12-25T18:22:00.000-08:002006-12-26T18:57:08.499-08:00

Bountiful And Bleeding(The Chronicles of Appendium)I’ve some things on my chest, mainly your body, bountiful and bleeding. But you linger, the trace remnants of the tips of your hair, if you hold me up to the lunar light you will see the scars, the burn marks that nevaR healed. Where your nails drove home their succulent love you’ll find gaping holes from whence poured out all that remained of my

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1165556243417091062006-12-07T21:27:00.000-08:002006-12-07T21:53:07.870-08:00

Prelapsarian and PitiedSpeed is the great narrator; time and space have only the bent of light, the soft curvature of an acoustic echo, but they were once subject to Speed, only recently intertwined, one might claim, not as they once were, only eidolons divined in the naked dreams of Speed. At high pace, in the space of time, shortened, lengthened and indeterminable, Speed, the elusive constant,

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1164955279989882852006-11-30T22:32:00.000-08:002006-12-07T21:53:55.193-08:00

The First Confinement of Chester Worthington(a nitemare in three parts)The House of Usher is ashenPassed into legendPassed into time-All while I slept-My coffin's cloyingAnd I, imbrued withBloody fingernails asVoiceless spectersWhisper promises (Tergiversate!)All to no availAll to no avail-As she rushes throughMy crumbling castleWhile my bodyGoes ethereal...from the vantage of my star going

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1164172160389865152006-11-21T21:09:00.000-08:002006-12-07T21:54:54.520-08:00

falling through the past my trembling hands find your script, delicate and heavy, so pressed against the card. signed with compassion and covered in wit, i'm searching for the answers but coming short of it. and o my god, o my dear god, where are you now? i've been desperate and i've been hard, i've been empty and i've been dark, but where, o my god, where are you girl? i can't find the strength

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1163999667617152062006-11-19T21:09:00.000-08:002006-12-07T21:54:37.956-08:00

we were made of fire ,crushed embers to the flame,we danced between the whispersand died before the day...kentucky brought out the worstby showcasing the bestan awe inspired heart can offerbut the blood already bledthrough the oak trees emptybranches waved quietly goodbyeas the miles sped on byeand the miles just sped on bye...it's such a long road that beckons me...Mit die Stern, LuciEvanescence

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1162795126548061982006-11-05T22:35:00.000-08:002006-12-07T21:54:17.226-08:00

The Fate Awaits(all my shame, i give away)With toes above the emptiness, the grasping fingertips of the waves, their arms in oscillation as the even darker shapes beneath the surface circle my dangling form. I've got both hands clasped tightly to the withered and fraying rope, my hands bleeding down till my naked torso is a tributary of crimson. Overhead a single lantern swings, a ghastly light

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1160460600182692962006-10-09T23:08:00.000-07:002006-12-07T21:55:10.026-08:00

wir haben Formen heraus Schatten gemacht... (we made forms out of shadows)i stand as an empty mausoleum, all bones and withered skin. the dust is suffocating in this sickly place, an otherworldly calm that is cacophony in disguise. nothing truly disappears, our eyes only forget to see as we suffocate in this dust of our first remembrance. i stand as if a grave robber analyzing my own grave and

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1158865437744181202006-09-21T11:58:00.000-07:002006-12-07T21:55:36.230-08:00

Isaiah 30:15 (English Standard Version)For thus said the Lord Yahweh, the Holy One of Israel, "You will be saved in returning and rest. Your strength will be in quietness and in confidence."may the fire born of the eternal flame lick my bones clear and pure...

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1158811388674334432006-09-20T21:01:00.000-07:002006-12-07T21:56:26.743-08:00

I would have to destroy the world to let her understand how much I've needed this rain, how dry my heart has been. Let the clouds come, let the sun shutter himself as the quiet and cacophonous rain washes over this opened valley.

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1158468694988655892006-09-16T21:45:00.000-07:002006-12-07T21:56:48.576-08:00

"The observations and encounters of a solitary, taciturn man are vaguer and at the same time more intense than those of a sociable man; his thoughts are deeper, odder and never without a touch of sadness...Solitude produces originality, bold and astonishing beauty, poerty. But solitude also produces perverseness, the disproportionate, the absurd and the forbidden..."Death In Venice (Thomas Mann)

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1158384710778354002006-09-15T22:29:00.000-07:002006-12-07T21:57:06.466-08:00

'a glorious fleet of tall masted ships are beached, broken and bursting upon the quiet rays, the delicate dancing pin pricks of liquid heat as the world watches helpless from beneath.'

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1157338835473691212006-09-03T19:53:00.000-07:002006-09-03T20:10:55.970-07:00

Jetzt, ich stehen wie ein leeres Mausoleum, alle Knochen und verbluehte Haut. und wir waren in die endlos Meer verloren...Herr LuciCold/Year Of The Spider "Change The World"i nevaR wanted to change your worldi only wanted the simple thingswhatever happens now can't be real

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1156048722025648322006-08-19T21:38:00.000-07:002006-08-19T21:38:42.036-07:00

i want to crawl into this quiet place and stay here forever...

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1154833769225909492006-08-05T20:03:00.000-07:002006-08-05T20:11:30.986-07:00

The Birth of Blood(a retelling of beginnings and endings) Do you remember meeting the One who brought us fire? It was clothed in burning coal, his hair the ends of splintered trees, all glowing with amber and hot; the hands were a thick charcoal color. Its blue burning eyes cast agony all around, as the world wilted under his glare and under the fury of its commanding stature, all masculine and

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1153290630085717032006-07-18T23:29:00.000-07:002006-07-21T22:49:35.540-07:00

i buried Jack while you still slept, beneath the oak tree branches that overhung the fence...goodnite and godspeed...

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1152855634654102202006-07-13T22:34:00.000-07:002006-07-13T22:40:34.670-07:00

It's Late In The Eastall passionreduced to embersa hushed coalonly flared witha whisper of the wind, as the pouringrain falls round...is it any wonder?Der MorgensternStars/Set Yourself On Fire "The Big Fight"How could you do itI couldn't sayYears built on sandJune until maySecond to secondLied even while you held my handIt's death for the livingYes i am a ghostThe mirror is cloudyI loved you the

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1152763648776957852006-07-12T21:07:00.000-07:002006-07-12T21:07:28.786-07:00

and the promise made wasthis runs through...

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It took several weeks of introspection, a careful dialogue propagated out of concern and confusion, but after the considerations have been considered I believe I found an answer.I am afraid for my America.Nothing political, social or spiritual, but truly educational. How easy it is to rail on our education system, our teachers and professors, but I watched the downfall of our civilization in the

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1150875844727438912006-06-21T00:41:00.000-07:002006-06-21T00:57:53.610-07:00

My Savaged Heartand before methe sea and the skystretching like the limits ofeternity and my small forma hundred yards ahead of myviewing and the blue fell likeblocks, all of the sky andthe sea into the nothingnessand only the void remained-i, standing on the edge of infinitycalled the stars by nameas the host rose andstole my savaged heart away...(6-8-06)gott-fichend-verdammt du Ozeania...Herr

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i graduated todayare you proud of me?did you notice the sound, echo-less voice across the distance?are you proud of me?did you notice the tear, the silence torn asunder in your name?are you proud of me?did you, did you, did you even care?all things change, all of these things change...Der Morgensternich vermisse sieDeath Cab For Cutie/Plans "Different Names For The Same Thing"

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1150500529704246662006-06-16T16:28:00.000-07:002006-06-16T16:28:49.713-07:00

all things change...

Stearlinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07476836749046442663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5596577.post-1148358009199352692006-05-22T21:15:00.000-07:002006-05-23T00:23:56.573-07:00

The Relegation Of Kingston BlackwoodPt. 4With exuberance Benny let out a loud cheer. His face a portrait of joy and relief, having been saved he assumed. It was short lived however for the Panzer burst through a back wall, all green metal and unfurled cannon pointed directly for us. Benny's face dropped in despair, but I slowly pulled the second Panzerfaust from the crate and stepped in front

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The Relegation Of Kingston BlackwoodPt. 3The shot entered his upper back on the left side, tearing straight through him and exiting his heart by way of his chest. He jumped into me as the bullet shook him and together we crashed back into the rubble. Benny by now was up and moving about. He grasped my shoulder, shouting words I couldn't hear, but clearly understood. I lifted Abele and we

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The Relegation Of Kingston BlackwoodPt. 2We had retreated to Dunkirk on the 20th of May 1940, having been driven from the border of Belgium under heavy German attack. Unable to mount effective resistance many regiments both British and French had followed suite in a highly disorganized retreat. Squadrons of Stuka dive bombers littered the city with incendiary ordinance, setting a thousand fires

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If you haven't read the prequel here is the link, (just scroll down on the link page)...The Raising Of Kingston Blackwood The Relegation Of Kingston BlackwoodPt. 1 I met her there in Southgate in a quaint little cove of coffee treasures. By Jove's! was a shop of small renown in this part of town, a veritable treat and must visit destination by anyone in the area. The walls were covered in those

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The radio clicked on as I turned my car off that nite. The full moon beaming ecstatically through my window bathed my darkening arms in silver radiance. Over the airwaves the song broke through and was thus given my full attention. The Reason. To be honest I hadn't touched a note of theirs since said depeature. But now, here, tonite, such strings rang out and certain undeniable notes were

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In six years you will ask me what happened...In six small questions only one will matter...In six words I answer you honestly..."I've now kept all my promises..."I've been sleeping with the sunrise, watching the hours pass away...Der MorgensternMaking April/Runaway World "Roses And Butterflies"this is where my heart is cold and tornas i hear the words you're saying tonitei fell for them every

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Dieses Herz War Fur Brechend Machen It is so much easier to breathe when the lights are out. We were having a private conversation, which of course, included a multitude of senses and sensations all clamoring for attention at once. I remember being alive once. We all nodded in agreement; truly we all remembered what it was like to be alive. In fact a few of us had even created adventures from

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I can't wait...to be with you.No, I just can't sit still....are we there, yet?Takes me back...I remember.Such a magical place...It was all youClosing in...I hope that you make it.Closing in...I hope that you find your way.Frame by frame...Red speed ahead.A city dissolving, the thread of your love in the headlights.Is it safe now...will your arms be open?I just have to kiss you...try and stop

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To fall in the void as I fell: none of you knows what that means...You simply fell, indefinitely, for an indefinite length of time. I went down into the void, to the most absolute bottom conceivable, and once there I saw that the extreme limit must have been much, much farther below, very remote, and I went on falling, to reach it.Italo Calvino/CosmicomicsThe Form of Space

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The Conclusive ViewWe met at the end. Such a silly place to lock ourselves together, 12 miles above the rotating planet and I didn't even know her name. The steady stream of smoke and ash littered the viewing window in front of us as we hovered before it. The columns rose from the surface, snakes dancing in the sunlight, moving in, thru and around the burnished cumuli of the upper atmosphere.

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