Thursday, 18 September 2014 11:28
(BY: CLEM M. B ASCAR) My constant alliance with
loneliness has given birth to obsessive
affair with imagery; an excessive propensity
to embark on expeditions into realms which only
minds without borders dare; a preoccupation regulated
entirely by the texture of the dark, the depth of its mystery,
the height of its anonimity.
Frankly, I draw my fertility, potency, and worthiness
from the bounty of emptiness; from the omnipresence of solitude;
from the unpredictable surge of caprice.
spreads swiftly like the random
scaterring of waves during upheavals of the currents
reaching heights of legends;
but lo, I bask in glory at the
rising of paper moons; a habitual escape from drudgery
for sustaining one’s ego submerged in the illusions of captured glories;
It’s far greater, though
than not having to
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