What was done to him was like what happens on the train, when you think you are moving forward, but are moving backward, and suddenly find out the real direction.
"Yes, it was all not right," he said to himself, "but never mind. I can, I can do 'right.' But what is 'right'?" he asked himself and suddenly grew still.
--from The Death of Ivan Ilyich
Category Archives: Poetry & Prose
regret of the dark (or on vanity)
Pain and pleasure, foes equivalent, Striving to subdue — and failing! Dueling for my senses while my cup which used to Overflow, sends water to my veins. (Or so the Greek once said) But the pain remains, I do believe … Continue reading
Posted in Anguish & Despair, Poetry & Prose
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Everyday familiar as the winding roads which always end at my house, hackneyed as a polite greeting, and tired and certain as the descending sun, is my prénom. But not today. Evicted, the streets usher me now into a garish … Continue reading
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kiss of innocence
A kiss is only worse than words– those vitriolic and fearful attacks arising from that malignant pride which, suffocating our chests, nails us all to dark gallows– if it is a kiss of betrayal. For I may pose that grey … Continue reading
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Bye Room.
Tiny 18th century soldiers Simple pigments painted by a small boy Harvard bound. History, his centerpiece Needle sized details of human interaction enrapture his chest. Yet despite the slow ticking grandfather clock’s gentle encouragements, the miniscule Oscar Wilde book interminably … Continue reading
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Chickens
Chickens are the unsung heroes of Easter. Look around on Easter, and hardly any decorations depict chickens. Instead the American citizen is bombarded with images of bunnies, eggs, and sickeningly cute yellow chicks. If you feel inclined to dismiss this … Continue reading
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