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Dream JobIf I dressed for the job I wanted, I'd be wearing a spacesuit
When I grow up, I want to reach enlightenment
on the summit of Olympus Mons,
meditating on the words of Arthur C. Clarke
"there are no mountains on Mars."
This is what imagination risks.
Exploring we discover not that our knowledge is flawed,
but that we do not dream hard enough.
Even in the beginning, God expected us to name the world.
And we could only utter stumblings in that Ur-tongue,
inventing the invention of ideas.
Even before we tasted the tree,
even before we knew that we could ever be wrong,
we clung to the referential alchemy of language.
This world we think we've tamed
has mastered us, instead, because we mistake
our words for things.
Mystics and medicine men have been
trying to free us from our trespasses
So, I will listen to the sands of Mars,
build a tabernacle with red stones, and sing
a song of loss. Call out to that old dream that makes us young,
Our DutyWe swallowed the path home
Because we were hungry,
Though starving is an ongoing
Story, an empty bag
Dancing in the streets,
Full of an unfastened voice
Walking through the house,
Wind unchained, heart admonished.
Heaven fills its eyes, crawls away,
That sleeping boat content to follow
The vacant waves, intervals
Of dying that we dare not interrupt,
And we watch the kind ear shrinking
From our charcoal docks; heaven
With a full stomach crawls away.
This is what we were put here for.
Leaving Southampton She was in the kitchen when he stumbled in noisily, tripping as he went past the shelves and catching the edge of the table to keep himself from falling.
Pretending not to hear the stream of curses that followed, she kept her eyes fixed on the dishes, letting her hand trail in the soapy water. There was a loud scraping of wood against grimy concrete as he drew a chair and collapsed into it. At this she looked up, and after a moment's hesitation, she said, unnecessarily, "You've been drinking."
He clutched his head and said nothing. He hadn't shaved in weeks and stank of sweat and alcohol; he looked much older than his eighteen years.
They sat in silence for a while. Then he announced, loudly, "Fuck."
She didn't bother to tell him off. She just waited. And jumped when he suddenly brought his fist down, hard, onto the table.
"Our lives here are s
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More