Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

On a gentle sage slope, no sound or motion. I´m quietly certain that redemption is buried on the horizon.... it might be closer than ever, yet the horizon makes no move. Then, a ripple of faint orange, a stretching shadow. Motion. I sense it. The foundation itself is now in motion, and can't be trusted.

Too many variables. The vagabond moon is a pale mathematical excuse, never the same place, face. It sneaks up from behind as I dwell on another sinking sun. It raises up the adobe ruins, out of their blinding sagebrush tombs. It moves a mountain or two as well, though I can´t be sure inside of its twilight trick.... a pale light of spirit.

Too many variables. They stole my solemn equation. They gave me a liquid window, a melted set of fixed coordinates, or every sliding constant I´ve made holy or unholy peace with.... a biting, inviting cold which runs in and out of me.... another recycled loop of quandary.

" . . .blinding sagebrush tombs . . ." is very nice, mnaz.


--Z

....it is an inside loop mark til you realize that "there's more than is dreamt of in your philosophies" as willie shakes said, that is the only way to explain it.....once you awaken to this your free...it's so easy when you see that "there is more!".....something has to shake us into this realization, and it is a search... one has to make on his own and maybe they will never see, or maybe they will.....that's when you get into true realization....this is an awesome piece of writing you've given us mnaz..............................

thx, Mark & Z.

a little rough and vague, I guess..... but the adobe ruins really do seem to rise up higher in the moonlight, just as they seem to shrink away from relentless solar bombardment. And the constants are all in motion....

very roadworthy, mnaz

I was going to ask to see the pictures

but I think I see them already

Yes, Redemption is buried on the horizon, or at least, she's reclining langorously near to it, near Elko or Carson, in a trailer camp festooned year-round with lights, the haloes of each angel of the 395 that pulls his Peterbilt or Hummer or Harley into El Rancho del Redeemer, hoping to obtain some fairly easily negotiated redemption. After a half hour or so of entering the abode of Ms. Redemption, becoming sufficiently redeemed, the redemption seeker plays a few casual hands of blackjack, knocks back a burger and a beer, and then heads back to the coordinates of Redemption highway, as Ms. Redeemer, washing off her supplicant's offering, waits for the next Quester for Truth....