Kurrs' Digital Tapestry of Words

At the end of Nevermore, every time, I weep.

It isn't the tragedies, which are many, or the mysterious death, which is definitionally predictable. No, it is the song that preludes his death. A rejection of fate, of the sweeping winds and tides of fortune, a Nietzchean call to arms. And then he dies. It is the horror of never escaping that cruel mistress, of never owning one's life. The real tragedy is a life lived without agency.

I don't, and never will, fear death.

If anything, I fear a life... unlived.

Currently Listening: Nevermore - When Edgar Met Elmira (listen/watch)
Written On: Home Computer
Alternate Title: I Wish They Would Just Release A Soundtrack

Posted by Kurrs at 7:05 PM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here

I am full of an inconsolable sadness. But think me not ungrateful, for while it pulls my heart down into my stomach, it can be borne. Images of Egypt in turmoil, academic treatises on genocide, and even a simple comic of a father lost to accident, all haunt my reading and my dreams. All bring tears to the corners of my eyes and I am grateful for the freedom and the strength to be sad.

I see and hear stories of pregnancy and the sorrow cuts deeper. I spend a weekend arm in arm and its absence makes the sorrow cut deeper. I seem to have so few friends left, and while I regret nothing, the sorrow...

It cuts deeper.

Even if it isn't that bad. If there is a limited supply of luck, I'd happily give it up for a cause more pressing.

I've made my mess. I'll deal with it myself.

Written On: iPhone

Posted by Kurrs at 2:16 PM | Permalink

When I was younger, I read comics about a murderer. And while the violent content was perhaps a good fit for the frustrated anger of my youth, it is the more somber passages that resonate with greater longevity. He dreamed about being cold like quiet moonlight, serene and heartless. Up here, sitting in a cold bucket upon the clouds, closer to that same luminescence, my mind wanders there too. I imagine it must feel like a cloak of ice, with icing sugar on the tips of your fingers. The point at the edge of death, where the pain stops, where it feels comforting and almost... pleasant.



Written On: iPhone
Currently Listening: Rachel's - Water From The Same Source (listen)

Posted by Kurrs at 7:00 PM | Permalink

In some ways, you were very much like me. Your feigned heartlessness, slightly different in tone and perhaps better wrought than mine, still rings very familiar. I can still lose landscapes in your eyes, and the stutterstep of pushpull to my feelings towards you linger still in my memory. The ones that perhaps did not want me at all torment me as much if not more than those that did. Resolution is more of a struggle in a couples dance danced alone. I could still lose landscapes in your eyes. Clear, clean green, like tropical waters turned cold.

What picture could I attach to this but a picture of you? But, really, that simply wouldn't do.

Posted by Kurrs at 10:04 PM | Permalink