Wednesday, June 20, 2007



The minutes that make up my timelessness.
The feelings that make up my heartlessness.
The flames that make up my darkness.
The screams that make up my silence.

Friday, June 8, 2007

On Writing

" I sometimes hold it half a sin
To put in words the grief I feel;
For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within.

But, for the unquiet heart and brain,
A use in measured language lies;
The sad mechanic exercise,
Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.

In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold:
But that large grief which these enfold
Is given in outline and no more. "

- Lord Alfred Tennyson
[ Chap V, In Memoriam A.H.H ]

I don't want to write.