“We Can Look Back At Those People And See How Evil That Was, But We Can’t See It In Ourselves. So

“And echoing on the wind are the countless names of those who succumbed in that space beyond our world, the Desert beyond the stars, where ancient words are uttered through cracked lips, never to be heard by any living.”

-A story I have left unfinished, should I continue it?

We Fight

People bray, and shout, and scream                                                               They fight and rage against the machine.                                                           Yet fire still falls from the sky                                                                                Mothers pray and children cry                                                                               And voices are still silenced beneath the bloodstained sand and sun and snow, and tomorrow still torrents towards us from a strange and distant land.

How to Die like an Ancient Philosopher

Empedocles: leap into a dormant volcano Protagoras: run into the shore. in a ship. Socrates: gargle w/ hemlock juice Plato: either get serenaded TOO HARD or just generally party TOO HARD Isocrates: go on a crash diet Diogenes: eat raw octopus, get bitten by a dog, hold your breath indefinitely Anaxarchus: get pounded w/ a giant mortar and pestle while loling Xenocrates: trip over a pot Epicurus: piss bricks Zeno of Citium: trip, break your toe, hold your breath indefinitely Chrysippus: get a donkey drunk, laugh at it Lucretius: chug a love potion and let it do the rest Hypatia: anger a mob of christians Boethius: get strangled by your boss

I love this piece, a lot. By Vasily Kafanov

[Record scratch] [Freeze frame] Verily, that is me. Abraham, chosen one of God. Thou art probably wondering how I came to be in that situation.

“Such is the nature of Love, it makes Poets and villains of us all.”

-My journal

Better safe than sorry...

Our knees rattle as a prayer, should our voices fail to speak.

Your needle has worn my grooves to deep.

The streets fill up again as though no disease could touch them. The renters return, the trees go from bare to lush and green. Oh God, another summer in a winter town. My God, another summer, with no one around.