Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I cared why guns were silent 'cause
to listen's what a soldier does;
I longed to hear to know if near
or far away my angel was.

Kailashana wrote: we had old schedules

These are golden words. That's the ticket--just to a train that's already left.

With Jesus and a lover for a friend, you’re certainly not lacking one in me— and yet I can’t ignore you, so pretend I’m something more than distant; let me be a better neighbor than my life would prove and let me join my benediction to the closer, more consistent, praise of love that better company ...

He’d had his body modified from infancy— his advent’s circumcision scar, a covenant with life’s own need to change in order to be faithful to its goal: to be alive, to stay alive, to be. His grown-up piercings complement the cut. “The cleanest slates we write upon all fail to keep from being modifie...

Had heaven only held one cloud
to which each generations' sense could rise,
would not its borders have allowed
them each an equal, infinite surprise?

the mingo wrote:Dino's right about the grace.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Funny how after we've purged within, the purge without always seems so much less urgent.

When David went from Jonathan— his friend— they kissed, each one another, and they wept with one another — likewise to the end your love is more than other loves I’ve kept. Elijah worshipped silence from a cleft within a rock— a holy tongue that dry would rather die than writhe— yet I have left me e...

Beautiful thought, beautiful truth. Concise and clean. I don't do concise well. But August 1 in the Connecticut River Valley was beautiful too: But smart rose windows— sanctuary, pink as eight-fifteen, the first of August eves— the stained glass smudged as if red-letter ink had bled across its diamo...

"Abbot Lot came to Abbot Joseph and said: "Father, to the limit of my ability, I keep my little rule, my little fast, my little prayer, meditation and contemplative silence; and to the limit of my ability, I work to cleanse my heart of thoughts; what more should I do?" The elder rose up in reply, an...

"Forgiveness as unity," so she surmised,
"might pardon impunity." I was surprised...
and yet it speaks justice: I do what's me done.
Forgiveness is unity; you and me: one.

que las ramitas esperan es la verdad.

many that I hear have not grasped the importance of volume and delivery......I hear so many quiet monotones that put me to sleep....the words might be great, but I can't get beyond the lackluster presentation.....for us that believe in the power of metaphor, we must keep on churning in the hope the...

When you become my body and I am not ashamed, I’ll know how delicate you are within your definitions by the ways you raise your thoughts and how you sit within your skin— when you are me and, stirred, we’re seamlessly at ease, the one among the other like the voice who breathes the word. I’ll harmon...

He just gave up on goodness at last as the goal of the life he'd amassed; the old schoolyard bully could never quite fully make it good for the scars of his past. So instead he'd trade goodness for grace on the hope it might somehow replace his self-talk of glory with life's sweeter story, like icec...