Motto: Sors immanis et inanis, dorsum nudum fero tui sceleris!*


There is but precious little of your time for me to document that I, however fleetingly, existed. Time and again I’ve been finding myself drown in the quicksand of my words, in trains of thought full of slurry and sediment but, having met you once for only once, I ought to smile with clarity and to hope that one day you’ll smile back knowingly. Don’t we all feel an urge to respond in kind when confronted with beauty and don’t we all do so according to our instincts? Mine is to create, perchance to bedazzle.

Man would likely spare naught for Beauty - amoral and tragical like the Universe - by her hand to die beautifully, gloriously, precipitously, at the end of all roads which take him to perdition. I therefore shan’t bewail my ill fate but rather see to it that it’s well deserved and that I have something to show up for my wounds - always enamoured with affliction, always fond of my sweet misery by way of which I individuate. To consume and be consumed, to succumb and transcend - should not be hastened that which cannot be eluded? I’m a heathen for seeking redemption in transgressing beautifully, naturally, voluptuously foretasting my own undoing. I love - thus do I acknowledge my mortality; I despise - thus do I tentatively walk the winding, narrow, lonely path, short of cowardly virtue. Beauty makes it acceptable to become undone; it’s the lovely sugarcoating to a bitter pill, promising to please.

“Partake with me of this hell!...”, I’d cry out to you. Alas, it would have to be a hell of your own desiring and making. “Remember me, when you finally come into your own!”

P.S. Lest I ever forget you, or the red of your coat, or the becoming red of your lips, or the golden morning light you caught in your mane as you swept your gaze across and away from mine, or your demeanor - they caught me up in that moment, forever tinged me with its truth...


March 27, 2015