Burn the Torches

Posted: August 7, 2015 in Uncategorized

In lamplight, in gaslight, in headlight, a ring dance around an altar, all flickerflame and cloaked in dead skin, the iconography and ritual of good intended bad ideas let live longer than their due course. We gather and chant, we mumble and moan, a tongue that our tongue was not meant to know, sounds and shapes that feel foreign, that many fake their way through or else continually doubt the validity of their syllables. The cords and chords twist and contract, a symphonic flatness that echoes off the cold and dirty stones, off the tile floors in the ranch house out on the boundaries of city limits, in the plush carpet of highrise apartmenthood. Because we all have our sacrifices, we all do our things in the name of some greater calling, whether it have a name and face, whether it demands tribute, or whether we pray to that void, the skeptic’s altar of the self and the mind, of the tested and tangible. We all hold a concept in higher regards to another. We all bear a god, and that god bears a devil, usually more in our own shape than ours in His or Hers.


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