To Sculpt The Stars

The barren plane, hushed and vast The arrow flies and must be passed The stage of contest, endless night The dark undone in curtains flight Threads of thought, like gold out-spun Threads of thought, to braid the sun To sculpt the stars, like wetted clay To hold the seasons, one must pay Coinage flowing—slick and red… Continue reading To Sculpt The Stars

Nothing Lasts

Stars fall against the murk of the night sky, a rain of fireflies, dying in mid-flight, hurtling, heralding, upon gentle heads blow, cruel truths. Nothing lasts. Nothing lasts. Listen to the harmony, that inaudible peal (Ong) that sets heavenly bodies to spin, amidst everchanging kaleidoscopes of the Void’s sacred geometries, pulling, tugging at Fate, with… Continue reading Nothing Lasts

Aesthetics of the Terrestrische Lehramt

We, the ceaseless et ferro, reject all art for its own sake. First and foremost due to the logical incoherence of the proposition; art can in no wise have a sake for it has not a self! The creation of art for its own sake - pah! - such is the narcissistic impulse of ego… Continue reading Aesthetics of the Terrestrische Lehramt