October 4, 2015:

A barren land, bare waste.
Vulcanic lake, the dead sea: no fish, weedless, sunk deep in the earth.
No wind could lift those waves, grey metal, poisonous foggy waters.

Forms more frequent,
white shapes thronged amid the trees,
white forms and fragments streaming by mutely,
sustaining vain gestures on the air.

Across the sands of all the world,
followed by the sun's flaming sword,
to the west,
trekking to evening lands.


October 3, 2015:

She kissed me. I was kissed. All yielding she tossed my hair. Kissed, she kissed me.

Yellow, black lace she wore, clutching a monstrance, basilisk eyed.

Fate. After her. Fate.


October 2, 2015:

Birth, hymen, martyr, war, foundation of a building, sacrifice, kidney burntoffering, druids' altars.

The brainsick words of sophists: Antisthenes.

What is the age of the soul of man?