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What we think, we become. --Buddha
Tibi soli peccavi et malum coram te feci, ut iustificeris in sermonibus tuis et vincas cum iudicaris. Ecce enim in iniquitatibus conceptus sum et in peccatis concepit me mater mea. Ecce enim veritatem dilexisti: incerta et occulta sapientiae tuae manifestasti mihi. Asperges me hyssopo et mundabor; lavabis me et super nivem dealbabor.
Only silence encompasses all sound.
Some of us are natural born actors.
Zarqawi who? I was busy watching American Idol.....was the world really black and white in the 50's?
A vertical city beginning in the bowels of the earth deep underneath the crevices of understanding. A flutist's melody worms through the air's acoustic carriage to the ears of our hero, eyes vacant and deep, locked inside a cage of concentration, thinking dreams in the abstract. The courage of pictures. His legs an involuntary force pushed by Newton's laws to the flutist's side. The music swivels through his brain as if it comprised the one and only feeling. Depth. A livid song of light. All the emotion a mountain can hold furled into itself into the palm of his hand. The earth quakes with realization. The mountain crumbles. His hands ache with mourning. He is a sober dreamer, and shattered by the screaming children's gasps of the train halting. The flutist stops to allow passage to the noise. The man boards without thought, without a dream. Leaving his vision behind he sits as a mechanized drone, lost and seeing only the chasm between him and purgatorian placidity.Feeling.
They called him "fingers," because without a last name, that's all he was.