How could one ever speak of the sun dipping? How could something so grand slip into

something so small, so much less than it,

sharing its warmth with a world it can’t touch?



A starstruck deer wonders:

As the sun wills the pull of the stars, casting light on the secrets that the galaxy holds,

secrets for mankind to claim as their own.

What does the deer have?

It has only the hours given in a day.

to stare, to be caught in the headlights of something much larger.



The sun does not care for the deer.

It doesn’t know of its stillness.

For hours, days,

for centuries, every deer who came before it.

Time is all the deer has.

watching, waiting for the sun to pull the sky down with it.

not questioning where it will go once it slips from view.

Creation is beyond a deer.

It obeys what the sun wills with its eyes.

the first time we met
a chance encounter
on my way out the door
yet something
held me in place
your eyes keeping me
in your rose kissed grasp

we met
and i wondered
how i could already
have so much love
for one person
it was as if we'd fought together
on the same battlefield
swords clashing
shields in place
fighting for each other
again and again

maybe then
it's not too much to hope
that there is another world
in which we made it
choosing each other
above all else
a place
where roses bloom
on the bloodiest battlefields

we met
and i knew that i had loved you
in every lifetime.

When the world grows
too loud or too fast,
it’s a good idea
to take a step back
and huddle away
into an empty space
where neither sound
nor time
can hurt you,

let silence envelop
your soul—not your self.

Eventually
the grass will grow
and the wind will settle,
all will slow
like in a lush meadow,

and far away
will the struggle drift.

The sky will grow white
with clouds that never rain,
gardens will grow green
without a single ****,

the sun will beat down
not bullets but care,
that nurtures the grass blades
through growth
and lifts the vapour into
the air.

Dimensions and galaxies will
pause,
for the universe cannot
feed.

And all will be.

I sat,
spliff lit like a tiny sun in my hand,
and looked up.

To the stars,
to the void,
to the hush that hums behind silence.

And I asked —

In all of this,
this chaos and order,
this pain and pulse…

Am I not all that?

Wasn’t I born of stars?
A flicker from the great ignition,
dressed in skin,
asking questions fire once whispered to stone?

I’m not watching the universe —
I’m remembering it.
Living it.
I am it.

And you —
you reading this —
you are too.

From the savagery which birthed civility;
From the meek,
I made strong.

I who go on.

I choose to pass-on,
To divide my belongings to those most deserving.
I who will work with others,
And in that way - do for them.
But never by force,
Through any medium & by any method
Of which that takes shape & form.

We thought the machines, the extraterrestrials or even the gods themselves would come down and stop us.
We had it seemingly coded within us, thinking there was some hard boundary that we would not be allowed to cross.

But no one came.
There was no one to stop us.
No one to contain our endless ambition.
The universe had no natural mechanism to contain such an intelligent virus, and indeed that is what we are.

From world to world galaxy to galaxy we leapt,
ever quicker ever more hungry.
We became all the things that our ancient fantasies and fictions
told us we would fight.
We became the machines, we became the extraterrestrials
and even greater than the gods themselves,
whom we gave up trying to find eons ago.

We knew now that anyone in existence who dreamed of gods, dreamed ever so dimly of us. Or they would,
if there was anything left that could dream.
Here in the infinite cold dark,
a universe stripped clean like meat off of a bone.
There was an old saying that we came from dust,
and to dust we shall return.
We rest content now,
knowing we took all creation with us.

art is an interchangeable form.
what is poetry can be prose can be music can be art can be TV can be movies can be video games can be visual novels can be webcomics can be dance can be movement can be aesthetics can be a flash of inspiration hidden behind a street corner.

art is a connective process.
you forge new threads between yourself, others, and the world around you.
you realize the universe is so much bigger than yourself. and yet, you discover just how you can be a part of it, just how you can fit in.

through art we are not human, yet art is the most human form of being there is.
art motivates us not just to live, but to thrive. it shows us the evidence of why we should all still be alive.

and to appreciate art, is no less than to make it.
to create, is no lesser or greater than to be.

go feel art.
go make art.

go be art.

The Gordian Knot?
¹ The mesh of civilization.

To untie it is to understand it,
To know it.
This is to TIGHTEN it.

To cleave it is to try to conquer it;
It all comes undone,
Never to be re-strung.

You can be Prometheus,
Who was actually always celebrated,
Or you can be Aeneas -
The one who was really ChAINhed to the rock.

What matters is learning,
² All else is for naught.

i imagined i
kissed the universe yes i
think it kissed me back