I Never Really Got Over

Now Every Mortal Has Pain And Sweat Is Constant, But If There Is Anything Dearer Than Being Alive, It's Dark To Me. We Humans Seem Disastrously In Love With This Thing (whatever It Is) That Glitters On The Earth-- We Call It Life. We Know No Other. The Underworld's A Blank And All The Rest Just Fantasy.

The Words We Read And Words We Write Never Say Exactly What We Mean. The People We Love Are Never Just As We Desire Them. The Two Symbola Never Perfectly Match. Eros Is In Between.

Why Does Tragedy Exist? Because You Are Full Of Rage. Why Are You Full Of Rage? Because You Are Full Of Grief.

Do You Remember When They Taught Cursive In Schools? I Think They Don't Anymore. But I Still Enjoy It - Just The Physical Act And All The - The Whole Business Of Making A Thing Out Of Language.

When They Made Love Geryon Liked To Touch In Slow Succession Each Of The Bones Of Herakles' Back As It Arched Away From Him Into Who Knows What Dark Dream Of Its Own, Running Both Hands All The Way Down From The Base Of The Neck To The End Of The Spine Which He Can Cause To Shiver Like A Root In The Rain.