Apr 28

Red is living that bleeds, flush with imminent delight and fresh wounds. Full of body and heat. Red arouses in us all that makes vibrant, ready to compress from life our own way to doing things. It is germinal infant and crashing iron, seething with annihilation and generation, all things converging. In red do we come together and break apart. Love and war are the same color.

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Apr 22

Some think blue is sad-but I find it grand. Simple things-the sky and it’s for free. Ocean, the true mantle of the Earth. Ways of mind and paths of mercy. The fourth heaven is blue and where pattern forms, and are given creation in the world of idea. Lights that awaken and yet soothe the soul. The blue is the depth of things, the innermost place where things that live transpose to where, still living, they live no more.

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Apr 17

Purple is a time of year, wine pressed from out of our lives. Purple is royal, the true color of blood, what courses through our veins. The dangling, feral gentility of wisteria and orchids. The most costly of linens and dyes from the under the sea. At the borders of what we can perceive, the furthest reaches of our small and precious spectrum.

The purple lights about us presage illumination, the final colors before everything fades into white. Treading upon violet paths are the surest and straightest ways, humble for it being affluent and full of worship. Thick and old vines fructify impurpled, roots deep into the earth where is old blood from those dead long ago. And now, an impossibility of eyes looking out into the world of rare shades and telling spring from out of old things laying deep in the earth. In the spring, all around us, purple is the halo of the wonderfully old made young again, and about it in circumference, feeling purple is the crossed threshold of wisdom.

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Apr 15

The city burns during the day and shines at night. There is smoke and fire and people contesting. There are meetings, things coming together and in fusion creation manifests itself most fully. The human condition blossoming out in fireworking displays, loud and both ugly and beautiful at once. Blazes enkindled within the cores of man, while he labors and exhausts himself to pains for an end.

The city is wrought metal, poured concrete and polished glass. Spiring pointedly through skies made redder at sunset from its breath. It pulses and glows when things get cold and yet remains warm like a thing that is alive. And men walk in it and bargain with it to their own means while living with it is choices that come from out of young designs.

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Apr 09

I’ve made some choices. We all have. Some of them were good, and some of them were bad. I knew the good ones were good when I made them and I knew the bad ones were bad when I made them. But I did it anyway. With bad and good there are consequences, and not necessarily matching ones. Often, when I’ve done the right thing, something very undesirable was my reward. Often, when I’ve done the wrong thing, I was gratified. These are the conditions that define us. It’s what occurs afterwards that shapes what is to be. We make decisions about who we are and in the end it is up to us. Good and bad are both rewarded and punished, at different times. But as time passes and we see the effects these have in the world about us, we decide if we are to be conscious and responsible for our actions, or unconscious and enacting whatever behavior seems appropriate for the occasion. This is the difference between being an animal and a human being. Freedom is liberating, it is true. But, perhaps taken to its logical conclusion, freedom should also be terrifying as it is dangerous. And then, from fear, respect may naturally follow.

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