Having been to the Underworld and seen the faces of lost jewels, I can no longer smile with the Sun or cast my spirit half singing with the Moon.

For I have seen the Rock of Endings, and the million wayfarers cannot demean its shape – it stands before the gate, and signifies the promise that the gods shall steal from your lips leaving a taste that ash-burns for return.

And return you will for the promises stolen draw you in like a mortal wire and this unshakeable longing, this mysterious, brimming sensation that has no text – this is your only alibi for such an unrecorded event.


Think of gods and men.  Think of matter and spirit.

Think of us as shaped, birthed from – a slaughtered divinity.

The ancient myths that potter with these forms – they explain one or two things about the metaphysical texture of the human mind.

Secular or not.

And for that reason they continue to be an angle of light.