I saw the World's Glory

and I felt the World's Wealth

The beauty, a measure, external strength

The kings, the queens and the wise;

Philistines

A girl approached me in the street

She taught me open palms and feet

She begged

to be

Understood

She begged, for nothing more,

Than blood

She wrote the words

On her arm

As I read

Time flew by

We stood put

A hundred years

A hundred more

And for all of this, 

I saw

The greatest joy

was in her palm

Together,

we were warm

 

When your heart is an empty grave

A tomb, a prowess lone forgot

Our friendship bestowed

Lore and Loe

Our friendship, it was

And I,

And I,

Atone

Yesterday I lay up thinking about death. We claim death is everything life is not, that is to say: nothing. This assumption causes anxiety.

Yet, in that very claim we assume to know anyting about life. In reality, death is a necessant for life - a continuation of a cycle that seems to have no end as it seems to never have begun. We think that they are separate entities, contradicting eachother, when really they are on two different spectrums of a seamless whole.

Drawing studies from Ljungskile, Guitarcourse.

We live in an era where humans has become incompetent to the degree that we subsidize core values such as human connection; the capacity to listen, see and feel one another.

We look for ourselves in the bottom of a coffee cup as we think we need a different person, situation, a different life, a different soul.

What really yearns is you, for yourself.

To pay for capacities we've lost - the capacity to listen - is to sing silent hymns to a civilization that is longing to remember.

All that we create is already gone - if not during our lifetime, then, after centuries - yet it will absolutely be gone at the time the Sun swallows the Earth. 

It would be shallow to claim that we create for others. For fame, money, attention - Great art comes from within the sacred space of close attention, joy and prescence - this practice is for ourselves alone. It is within our reach to extract coherent meaning from our subliminal areas within our consciousness. As it is with Buddhist monks; Building intricate patterns, only to eradicate them once the work is done - So it is also with us and our own practice. It is fleeting and it is perishable. 

All of our hardship in creating will be gone, with us - yet, it is what sets us on fire in this very existence. It is what gives you the ecstasy of bliss, the experience to fly, whilst alive. Conclusively, we create as a means to sustain us through life. It is the very opportunity Life has given us, to transcend ourselves into matter - to view an extension of ourselves, and in doing so, having birthed something complete.

Comic book pages.