The Earth speaks. Not in a petty language of tongues, lips, and lungs, but one of stone, trees, and smoke. It is our great inheritance that we may speak this language, as it is our forebears’ labor whose fruits we enjoy. It was nearly four thousand years ago when our ancestors on the banks of the Yellow River heard the quiet whispers from the Labyrinth. It did not come in the form of a prophet, nor of a mythical beast. Rather, it came to them in the humblest of ways: in the remains of their fires.
[READ FULL WORK] |
From the extant fragments of Pediculopubis’ 108th Summative, dedicated to, and performed at court for, Clessidra V, last Divine Empress of Orgiastikon.
…that a voice, beauty when written for, is without all contour when it is left to speak alone… …a jewel in its setting, a clot of mud beyond… …when the liberating vowel too elongated trickles, seething, into the hourglass… [READ FULL WORK]
|
The butlers were fake butlers and the spies were fake spies. For a time this held, and one knew that a spy was really a butler and a butler really a spy. However when lie had become truth and truth became lie, the spies disguised themselves in their own skin. England was a land of half fake and half true spies.
[READ FULL WORK] |
POETRY
PROSE
PROSE
|
to the emptiness, and the emptiness remembers, although it is almost gone, displaced not only by sun, but also by the multitude of sun’s kin: displaced by feathers, milk, and rings, by the creviced skin of the rhinoceros (in which dwell, however, splinters of emptiness still), displaced by the courses of fish through the ocean (which allows no emptiness at all, closing swiftly behind the goings of haddocks and sharks), displaced...
[READ FULL WORK] |