- words

- art

- music

- other
renasissance

We were sick....lazy and gluttonous, spoon-fed second hand emotion, ever greedy for the processed sentiment they had taken such care preparing and packaging especially for us. We were overindulged- each of us, in our coffin-cots, comatose from the cosy couch lives we were custom made for, like ivory tower princesses, inviolable, voluntary prisoners privileged with the sterile security our selfish cells afforded us, our imagined egos- aloof- reserved rights and recoiled from responsibility. We were always safe, or so we thought. The sickness of the world was never more than an image; distant, unreal, explainable...we never knew the danger lied much closer- within us; a parasitic caricature of atrophied being becoming its own host. Our septic souls grew deformed and weak with the disease of disuse, withered and ghost-like, as, life-force fading, a blissful embrace of the bland brought us to new levels of lethargy. -And we loved it. It was all so easy; smug smiles cynically cut and pasted onto our conceited, vacant faces. We laughed at the world through emptiness and all was at ease, but there was no peace.

We were sick....and we did not have eyes to see each other- blinded by the fallacies of narcissus, hiding the emptiness beyond the wallpaper reality we existed in. Social eugenics ensured our short-sightedness, similarly our words also seemed born drunk, came spewing with bile, heavy with contempt, like vomit, solidified- all around this stench of sickness and of the fear beyond the fake optimism superimposed on to our lives by the arrogance of 24hr neon dreams. A land of dishonesty was discovered, we stumbled through the decay with other half-shadows, lungs bleeding, empty but for desperation, skin peeling, scrambling over fallen blistered bodies, sometimes a hardened sore would puncture a soft wound- a warning for the weak in this mass of crawling, writhing, naked illness fighting amongst itself to reach the oracle, only to find a corpse drowned in its own pity, putrefied limbs- twisted, broken on the cold pious floor of its altar with throat cut and silent tongue. Where are the lemon fresh values now? You see yourself in this-small, bacterial, a dedicated drone- a genetic type, part of that same squabbling distracted orgy of wanton self-seeking self-pitying sickness- born of the same self-hating despair and nihilism, destined to burst overripe with synthetic desires. The disclaimers of unfulfilled intentions, the excuses of the most cunning rationalisations reveal themselves as lies. Self-betrayal. You begin to hate yourself; another kind of sickness...

We were sick....sick of the cultural cholesterol clogging our arteries. Sick with disgust at what we had become. But- somehow, in this desolation, something changed, a word was cried- through boldness or desperation we cried NO. A mere word- against all that weighed upon us- was our most potent weapon- all powerful proclamation of dissent, a negation that was to found a future affirmation far greater than any we had known. This NO was a liberation, a beginning- its fanfare carried with it a promise of joyous triumph. Breaking free from the jealous weight of despair our laughter sprang up shining, unbidden, from some reclaimed innocence hitherto cast into gloom by the stage lights of a past life. These long-dormant spirits, awakening senses, unleashed passions (that we hardly knew how to feel)- threatened to overwhelm our naive, sheltered selves with their rampant zeal. We began to see further, think and act further than we could comprehend. But- the brighter our stars shone for us, so the void from which we had come came to appear ever darker to our dazzled, new-born eyes; darker and more lurid, luring us with yet greater temptations back to its piteous comforts as we strained for that uncertain promise before us. We found ourselves unready in a realm of infinite significance where the gravity of hopelessness threatens damnation for those who live like voyeurs of a self-enclosed gloom. In this battlefield of meaning salvation is worth fighting for. This cause empowers its believers- once it was believed to make one vulnerable, weak and blind- but that was before, when we were sick....

- on being gauche

- cactus

- fare

- philosophy
dissertation


- being on hold

- renaissance