comfyquiet

The Machine is meddlesome Tugging at the heartstrings of masses Through illusory promises of glory and grandeur. And they sway, These victims of gravity.

And they fall. Everyone falls, why wouldn’t they? The Machine’s orchestra weaves a mesmerising tune And I just wish they’d stop dancing, To look at what remains behind.

The few that are often forgotten. Unwanted specks in a carpet full of dust The whimper in a rowdy crowd Because they wouldn’t or couldn’t Accept the Machine’s construct.

Such is the consequence When the journey’s reward Matters more than the trek ever could. Values are vanity, Living is swimming upstream And the rest can drown.

I refuse to play a part in the Machine’s theatre. I’d like to believe, We can live by our own trinkets and devices But my weary eyes have seen enough to know better. All I want is to howl at the daylight’s moon And sleep with a smile on my face.

In Relativity, Matter tells Space how to curve, and Space tells Matter how to move.

Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It’s splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world.

One heart is not connected to another through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds. Pain linked to pain, fragility to fragility. There is no silence without a cry of grief, no forgiveness without bloodshed, no acceptance without a passage through acute loss. That is what lies at the root of true harmony.

Cut out all the ropes and let me fall

I go to loud places to search for someone to be quiet with

The past reflects eternally between two mirrors—the bright mirror of words and deeds, and the dark one, full of things we didn’t do or say.

I am reminded how close I am to an alternate world in which I am happy, a world that occupies the same space as this one but is somehow distinct from it. And while that better world may be difficult to find, it is as close to me as the air in front of my face.

If it takes a village to raise a child it takes a village to abuse them

These shifting and confused gusts of memory never lasted for more than a few seconds