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The Counterculture CreedBuffered between stars and skies, we rock to sleep on a gentle, wind-kissed revolution.The Counterculture Creed
We forge solidarity in dissonance, if we embrace it. We witness the now before it happens, if we choose it. We own the trade winds of transition, if we dare it.
We are the acrid smoke of industrious madness, &nbs
by ~seansmoores
Rumbling PresentimentIn the span of seconds I was aware that I was not awake – far from awake. The recession of sleep is abyssal, flecked by heartstone and marred by pitfalls. The monsters here are not real, but surreal, and more dangerous than any woven reality can conjure. It is not a realm, or a place, or a space: it is a state of being, an estate of distress. Fear, melancholy, and looming threat pervade this status. Above all, loneliness is chief – friends are fleeting, enemies are transcendent. It is important to know that names here are unimportant. Names breed power, and I am bereft of power.Rumbling Presentiment
In the latest episode of freefalling mania, I
by ~seansmoores
The NailA figment! A mirage! A friend.The Nail
I'll do my best to tell you where I have found myself. It's a place outside of the body, separate from the soul, and removed from reality. My name has been assassinated. The tablet you draw from here, now, should not be in your grasp. If the elements had any sense, they would've weathered this perversion away in enough time for your arrival. But here you are, and your palms cannot resist the stone. You're magnetized.
Where to start? I arrived a visitor, completely unwelcome, probably in violation. I was awake within a segregated sphere. The feelings here were foreign in every custom,
by ~seansmoores
Aching InkwellSitting before the crucible, mind alight, prayer affixed, and courage outward, I struggle through this dusty blizzard. Here, in this place, the dust of ages hence falls among the remains of vagabonds. They tried to stride along the path, blaze trails unfound, discover about the world what they couldn't bare to realize about themselves: where there's depth, there's mystery.Aching Inkwell
Could these people have come here on purpose? Did the exiles feel along the ground blindly for a passing salvation? Did the misguided simply take a disastrous step lostward?
I came here for you, lunarian. I know you're afraid of light. I know you
by ~seansmoores
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- Interests: Kitties
- Favourite poet or writer: Kafka
- Favourite game: Sacrifice
- Tools of the Trade: A word processor.
- Website: http://www.pronged.net
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