Sicut erat in princípio

Star scattered light

et nunc et semper

luminous trophosphere

et in sǽcula sæculórum

struck by infinity


Thick, close, aught, ought, fraught, August, white, yin, sin, a distant shore, a cool tile floor, swimming, limning, brimming, haze, praise, a burning gaze, the end of days.

Thinking of things, trying to bring my mind into submission, the fog of depression and hormones and fear making numb the sluggish synapses of someone I once was, or am, or will be. Just spitting out the thoughts and wondering if my fingers will do what my consciousness forbids. Connect with God? Connect with others? How is this possible until connection is made with a soul inside myself? Searching for home, but it exists only in the past, or in a parallel universe. I imagine splitting into an infinite number of pieces, spinning into the multiverse in all the potential that might have been.

Coffee for lunch. What are you having for lunch? See how I am reaching out, being sociable, expanding beyond my comfort zone? It certainly is hot today! Is it hot enough for you?

Hello, Word!