So the death knell writes the story, the explanation we will share about what all this leaving means. Saccharine tattoos and curbside altars, cruel jokes and off-color remarks. All the fear and confusion and hysteria that hums just below the taut skin of all these continuing lives freed to blame and forgive, to steal and creep and reshape some other light into a few fading sparks that fit beneath a headline or beneath a banner ad. It is telling, the details we cling to, the reasons we reject. Our heros, our villains, our misunderstood geniuses and unrecognized saints frame the glut of our celebrity appetites. They explain the world in their victories and their crimes. They are the mythos of this beaten burden of a world.
Each spat eulogy, each sanctimonious chestnut hurled is a banner and a litmus test. A clipped schema that will separate friend from foe, kinsman and kindred spirit from outlier and opposing force. Venture an opinion on some pop culture trial or high profile divorce and you will soon be known by the side you pick. All this love, all this brushed brass and candle smoke, all serves to light our point upon the map, this song of self where everyone sings a chorus. What rings true, what wakes us from our dreams, what stirs the embers of our passions, we grant these graven idols, the names and faces of the borderlands we long for. We morn these ghosts in earnest subversion, the song of our hearts a bramble in the dark. Caught in these tangles, we call out to hear our voices ring in the emptiness of heaven. We call out so that we might some day be who we once were.
Each spat eulogy, each sanctimonious chestnut hurled is a banner and a litmus test. A clipped schema that will separate friend from foe, kinsman and kindred spirit from outlier and opposing force. Venture an opinion on some pop culture trial or high profile divorce and you will soon be known by the side you pick. All this love, all this brushed brass and candle smoke, all serves to light our point upon the map, this song of self where everyone sings a chorus. What rings true, what wakes us from our dreams, what stirs the embers of our passions, we grant these graven idols, the names and faces of the borderlands we long for. We morn these ghosts in earnest subversion, the song of our hearts a bramble in the dark. Caught in these tangles, we call out to hear our voices ring in the emptiness of heaven. We call out so that we might some day be who we once were.
emya:
Hey love I'm back after a break that was far too long! I've just seen your latest sweet comment on my set That's so adorable I just think, if only the lighting was perfect but it was the best we could do with limited resources. That's definitely why it won't ever go pink, but I dont mind, it's all a learning curve and i'll get it spot on next time Can't wait to shoot another now, I have an extreme urge to strip for everyone again haha Thanks for your support from the beginning xXx