February 2012
20 posts
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“They say Aslan is on the move – perhaps has already landed.”
And now a...”
– C.S. Lewis, from The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe
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The Shape of Fire (What More Will the Bones...
And what about my mother? You say she is lost. You say she is gone. You say she is dead. Well then, to whom shall I address my fear? To whom shall I address my love? To whom shall I address my fire?
And what now to make of this? What steady love leaves loves abandoned? Not a holy love, I contend. But only holy love lasts. And only holy love burns white. For to char, to mold, to speak character...
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The Gospel
tristanswire:
It Is Finished.
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Lines
Most poets
On tumblr
Have
Absolutely
No
Concept
Of
Proper line break t
Ech
Nique
(sto
P hit
Ting
Enter).
PLEASE.
The line break is sacred.
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“Friendship:
It is to make conversation, to share a joke, to perform mutual...”
– Augustine, Confessions
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She was a Phantom of delight
She was a Phantom of delight
When first she gleam’d upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment’s ornament:
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
I saw...
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“When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I...”
– C. S. Lewis
When I read this last night I literraly sat up out of bed and start saying “ohh. ooh. he just went there.” There is no end to my love and respect for this man.
(He quoted 1 Corinthians 13.11 in a startling and wise manner.)
January 2012
9 posts
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ATTENTION! TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: THIS STATION IS... →
December 2011
22 posts
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Watchfeels good to speak again.
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Watchfinally messing with beats again. flowers, t
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(via thecharlieschafer)
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let the record show
I wash my feet now.
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The Weight of Glory
Dusty Soundrise – it lifts as smoke lifts, and falling, it drapes on me a weighty cloak of youth blurred. Overwarmed and oversaturated, the distorting boasts the nostalgia of an old record’s hymn. I sense there’s something more within the noise, within the heavy bliss. It is the song yet unsung, a shadow of The Great Longing’s resolve, I suppose. But I know less of the sea than of...
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“Grace is by definition something given, not something earned… Grace is a...”
– Derek Attridge, from Age of Bronze, State of Grace, an article of “J.M. Coetzee And the Ethics of Reading” This is entirely out of context and merely tangential to Attridge’s argument, but I found it wise and worth sharing.
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