I am reading Baldwin, only Baldwin. Yes, that quote is from something Baldwin…that one too. Please don’t ask me anymore questions.
What we read in 2019.
There are no heroes out here, only the lost, the fallen, the tired but ultimately the ailing: dying from wounds unseen.
We are giving back these harmonies of skin to the heavens that we, like St. Teresa of Àvila, might experience God as the paroxysm of sensation.
But if we are afraid of our own truth, who will harness the power of our momentary infinity; who will cradle this truth and sing it awake?