Small Talk (50)

aphorisms and short reflections

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miracle and mirror have the same etymological origin. a miracle is not something that happens, but something one notices. but then again so does mirage. so look carefully.










as a mystical cynic i never let either side of my nature overpower the other. it's more like a dance, and sometimes the tune is quite atonal, but we have fun, especially in those moments just before the dissonance resolves into more dissonance.







the occident is disoriented








i follow a plant based metaphysics








the physical should reflect the soul. thus ruins and catacombs (or, alternatively, clinical-sterile modern buildings) are the only appropriate settings for churches today. as for myself, i prefer cairns in forests, the original abrahamic tradition.







the lost art of losing artfully






i ran the numbers 
followed them to the letter
in the blink of an eye
the answer was under my nose:
play it by ear and run my mouth,
hands on winging it.







Jesus said, Blessed are the peacemakers, and then proceeded to be a holy troublemaker.







'the slick shall inherit the earth' is an etymologically acceptable translation








a play on words, linguistic drama







devils walk among us and you can often tell by the way they walk.






the vibes are shifty






my trophy wife was won in a raffle. i bought all the tickets.









we don't have to imagine how a roman or a maya felt when their civilizations collapsed. we just have to look around. it isn’t quite as spectacular as in the movies. if we’re distracted we might not notice it. that's why civilizations in decline specialize in distraction.







if you go the whole nine yards with a magic eight ball in your hand you'll find that in the seventh circle of hell six per cent of the fifth column break the fourth wall while being the third wheel and playing second fiddle to one in a million zeroes.








my metaphysical wanderings led me nowhere except back to myself, but the feeling of tiredness at the end was pleasant and the sights were magical.








i don't think any one being is the source of all reality. just like a tree, it can be huge, but it still is rooted somewhere and takes in the sun and the water and all the little deaths that feed it.










to the questions on the tip of my tongue i have the answers stuck in my throat.











new years resurrect old fears











traditionalists are nationalists for the foreign country that is the past, and one doubts their loyalty to their homeland of the present.












some things worry me, others excite me. to some i am indifferent, to others too partial. some i like, some i dislike. some i love, some i abhor. some i only know their names, and many others even that i ignore. too many things, and most of them are not even things at all.








most days start before the night is finished. or maybe i just don't want to get out of bed.








i listened closely to every argument, and thus acquired a degree in human stupidity.









some lean so heavily on skepticism that they fall face first into any kind of faith.










theologians can rarely theologin. they don't know the password.










modern people are rootless because the modern world is soilless










without humus there are no humans, and without death there is no humus









purposes are found accidentally.









the voice of a degeneration







fact shaming






some of my aphorisms are not even mine but stolen from characters in my stories.







when the child is small, the parents attend to the child. when the child grows up, an inversion happens, and it is the child who should attend to the parents, checking on them to see how things are going. so call your parents, and I mean God. ~ inspired by this post

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