There was a fall night when I pushed living as it's supposed to be pushed, when the wind and the rain meshed with my own sense of love, and wildness stirred in its contorted and disorienting fervor; wildness, wind, the pangs of existence and living pushed forward--the suffocating stench of rotten-rose life. Fuck it.

But it wasn't. And yet it was.

There was something there that was important. I don't know what it was.

Once caught her changin
the battery to her halo...

What is that far off look--that desperate, confident, defiant, dead look? Where is that place? Where does it live, where does it lay?

I don't know why I started a blog. I don't have anything to say. Truth is, though, there's something wonderful about defiance. It's interesting to think about as a person of authority. How does one promote disobedience and manage to promote anything at all? Truth is, I was never a real rule breaker. I just don't respect rules. But I don't respect them because I fear them. Truth is, nothing has power unless someone gives it power. Repression is what makes Russian lit great. Juxtaposition is what makes life great.

There's a great Gardner Taylor sermon...Enemy? Victory! Cross? Crown! The juxtaposition of the kingdom!

What do people expect from this life? Can we be comfortable when we're dead? Ruminations from the original watermelon eater...