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My Thistled Thoughts

Poetry // Prose // Personal Passages

“What a phantasmagoria the mind is and meeting-place of dissemblables! At one moment we deplore our birth and state and aspire to an ascetic exaltation; the next we are overcome by the smell of some old garden path and weep to hear the thrushes sing.”

— Virginia Woolf, Orlando: A Biography

Latest from the Blog

Since We’re Sharing

…you & I remain inside
different body & mental,
physical & spiritual prisons…

Procession

where burning becomes
a state of being, & ashes
are the taste of comfort

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