Land of my ancestors, upon which they worked and walked; through life ephemeral, into life eternal.
A Living Fruit, Seeking Roots.
Rhapsody In Bohemia
Unearthing the extra buried in the seemingly "ordinary".
Perfection, That Endless Creation.
At the tail end of infinity, the mark of perfection is drawn. With a secret fantasy of invincibility, we are born. The wish to be without blemish. To approach being above reproach. No missed takes, unaccustomed to mistakes. Ultra-self sufficiency without knowledge of inadequacies. A Midas of sorts, whose deeds and words are 99... Continue Reading →
Son of the Soil in the Concrete Jungle
Where is the place of the son of the soil in the concrete jungle? When shoes won't let his bare-feet feel mother earth breathe.
Voiced thoughts