|a sampling of my favorite visual art on dA|
Desert SurvivalDesert Survival by AlecBell
The rugged cactus
knows how to protect its life,
armoured and rooted.
it's paid its own price,
sharp, prickly thorns.
AfterlifeThe dead have but a single refuge. So you might say. But for them the greatest consolation is that they are no more.Afterlife by AlecBell
Where then can that refuge be? Where but in the dreams of the living? They are the refugees of the night, slipping between the shadows that our conscious moments cast.
As Freud imagined it, sleep ascends from its vaulted hind brain prison, rolling back the carpets of the past as it goes. At his arrival, the motor man stands down. These long hours will resemble those inert ages in the womb. No voluntary act will pass beyond the dark chamber of sleep. Under sleep's indifferent eye the skies of consciousness are becoming overcast. From drifting clouds of what has not been forgotten, the shapes and patterns of ghosts will emerge.
Reason laid to rest,
fancy is helpless. Restless
|a sampling of my favorite writers on dA|
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