Reflection

I have come curiously close to the end, down
Beneath my self-indulgent pitiful hole,
Defeated, I concede and
Move closer
I may find comfort here
I may find peace within the emptiness
How pitiful

It's calling me...

And in my darkest moment, fetal and weeping
The moon tells me a secret - my confidant
As full and bright as I am
This light is not my own and
A million light reflections pass over me

Its source is bright and endless
She resuscitates the hopeless
Without her, we are lifeless satellites drifting

And as I pull my head out I am without one doubt
Don't wanna be down here feeding my narcissism.
I must crucify the ego before it's far too late
I pray the light lifts me out
Before I pine away.

So crucify the ego, before it's far too late
To leave behind this place so negative and blind and cynical,
And you will come to find that we are all one mind
Capable of all that's imagined and all conceivable.
Just let the light touch you
And let the words spill through
And let them pass right through
Bringing out our hope and reason ...
before we pine away.

Undoing the Bear Trap from My Leg; Resetting it for the Next

All this is excessively interesting, but there’s also a black, gloomy, unnerving sadness about it, so that man must forcefully hold himself back from gazing too long into these abysses. Here we have illness — no doubt about that—the most terrifying illness that has raged in human beings up to now:—and anyone who can still hear (but nowadays people no longer have the ear for that!—) how in this night of torment and insanity the cry of love has resounded, the cry of the most yearning delight, of redemption through love, turns away, seized by an invincible horror. . . In human beings there is so much that is terrible! . . . The world has already been a lunatic asylum for too long! --Friedrich Nietzsche

I have failed. To remain in this lunatic asylum is not only unhealthy but it grinds into me as a weaponsmith forging a new blade on his grinding wheel. My failure lies in that, when presented with an opportunity for reprieve and regeneration, the trap snaps shut, and I am left here, dying from blood loss. That is not the entirety of this seeping, seething failure. This trap is not new. I know it well. I know the teeth and hinges. I know its rusty metal. MY LEG BEARS THE SCARS OF THIS TRAP. My true failure to myself and to others is that, when this trap ensnares me, I do not chew my leg off to continue on. I need to. I tell myself I need to. But I look behind me and that backward glance costs me my resolve. So I watch my reprieve slip away over the horizon. I reach down and use all my anger to force the trap open again and reset it for the next time the golden chariot swings my way. I throw my rage at these inanimate things that take the punishment without question. fuck. goddamn.

i'm sorry.

The World Set Free

The World Set Free

The book in its entirety.

H.G. Wells predicted, 40 years before its conception, the splendor and pure terror of man's most wondrous spectacle.