philosophy 101

I have asked these same questions, over & over again; not to seek answers, but to validate existence. It must somehow be connected, to the futility of perpetual motion; an everlasting drive that is absolutely free. What drives this human machine? Perhaps blood, sweat & tears; or grinding gears of bone on bone. These emotional... Continue Reading →

nine brushes

A blank page in a book, Unwritten sonnet awaits; The author is the artist with a sword. They paint pictures with words, Hanging them out to dry ~ Airing out grievances, & celebrating song.

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