Four Seasonings in Relative D

from by The Quickening



Baby, you and me; oh, we’re running to the edge of the precipice. What’s the rest of us? It’s the death of us. It’s a circle, the center is everywhere; circumference is nowhere. It has no edge. It’s overwhelming; the senses falling away. Sometimes I wonder, calamity enters the fray. What’s at the end of all these things? Fear and self loathing, the bliss and the ecstasy. What’s at the end of all these things? Nothing? The dust must keep praying (keep the heretics swinging)...but the eyes of the heart are ever patient. When eyes can’t move within; and there’s nowhere left without...


from White Blossoms, released April 5, 2009



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