Lifeisnotaparagraph’s Weblog

Is love the death of the intellect?
Is religion inherantly colonial?

I approach these questions under the rain, in the memory of a sunny day on a patio, where they were introduced by friends.

Is religion possible where the mind is free to question, but where it may also submit to the aesthetic? Is a submission to beauty a kind of love? Is love a form of questioning, of continually deferred answer only desirable in its own pursuit?

Desire:
I strip down the the senses and stand in the blue wind of an oncoming rain
peeling off layers of language
down to just below the skin
where wind is no longer a word,
but an electric flash
straight to the brain

I strip down the senses and stand in the blue wind of an oncoming,
rain peeling off, layers of,
language down to just below,
the skin where wind is no longer.
A word – but electric,
A flash, straight to.

I strip senses and stand, blue,
oncoming, peeling language skin,
longer electric words flash to:

senses, skin, words:

electric, flashing in the wind.