Once, as I was burying one of my dead selves, the grave-digger came by and said to me, ‘Of all those who come here to bury, you alone I like.’

“Said I, ‘You please me exceedingly, but why do you like me?’

“‘Because,’ said he, ‘They come weeping and go weeping -- you only come laughing and go laughing.’”

—Kahlil Gibran, “The Madman”

you may not know it yet, but this is a graveyard, a seed bursting, sprouting, it is the speck of mold spreading, the rubbish heap decaying, this is a kaleidoscope of tombstone silhouettes. a shadow land where i have birthed and buried many old selves, and sometimes predicted the new.

the two acts of birthing and burying are the same, they are simply on different sides of a perceptional line. when we finally see beyond the line, they become the same act.
here i expose to you my shadows, many of the pieces are written before i realized they were ever touched by shadow, by my unknown. this is why you find so much rubbish, because all the world has rubbish, and is sprinkled sparsely with gold.