Forehead to the window, promising myself I won't indulge yet another crucifixion, which posture is only necessary because of this ongoing self-deception. How bright the stars become when one is confused about where and how else to look for God! Yet all lost dogs find a home, or so I was told and yet choose to believe. Turning in all directions a long time to confirm that direction still exists. Is there in fact another way? Stumbling happily past trimmed-back raspberries, early December, the Goddess of Snow Flurries masturbating in moonlight, coming all over me. Family is the nightmare from which we must awaken, sex may not be the answer. What happened to everything not being reduced to a single image? Why are all the screens suddenly filled with local adaptations queering a great love in order to more broadly disseminate it? We open out into the cosmos, the true monastery is the heart, evangelist convert thyself. We learn to hold each other by opening our arms and leaning in. The other is always you. These are ideas yes but ideas are made of light and light is love. Flake upon flake advancing a storm we cannot help but open to as Christ.
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