Just Wrought

Graveyards in Heaven

 

6/21/17

Last night I dreamed I was walking through the graveyards of heaven.

[I couldn't read the names on the stones.]

But I did rubbings all the same.

Crows are the dead, so much happier.

We are at the precise crisis point of evolution: does understanding matter?

 

Talk is cheap. Writing, tortuously expensive.

Your assumptions are more articulate than you, more adept at providing a richly detailed description of you than you are in describing the person you're making assumptions about.

If you can’t seem to find the right adjective, try not using one.

Running around like cuts with our heads chickened off.

If there were no such thing as beauty and ugliness we wouldn't be able to understand that there’s no such thing as beauty and ugliness.

A Thought for a >2,000 Word Day

Wrighting plays comes more naturally to me than writing prose, but then again so does fighting.  “Natural” ain’t necessarily better.  Sometimes sitting silent really is more powerful.

 

The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
And God fulfills himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s Idyll’s of the King

I’m making a bid to transform my superfluousness into superfluidity.