Søren Kierkegaard says, “Poets scream and cry in agony, but when they do it their lips are so formed that it comes out as beautiful music. When we say to the poets, 'Sing to us,' we’re saying, 'May new disasters... Continue Reading →
And paper smelled of pain. The generations of scribbles read together as lost words that couldn't connect the rolling of empty train cars with the people that had to empty them. Who owns letting paper turn to ash? Perhaps us... Continue Reading →
Smoothness lost in transition. Overwhelmed by movement, Overwhelmed by composition. Music streams through the heart. • • • We are waking again, again we are lingering. I put you to rest when you were sad, Scared and your limbs wouldn't... Continue Reading →
Cat Over Clock 