Whatever happens in The Abyss, remains in The Abyss, but what the traveller needs to know is this: the universe is a system of illusion and counter-illusion. In the human realm, the Wizard is at work everywhere: behind the controls which animate The Reaper Of Tongues; maintaining the system which feeds The Nightmare Engine; devising new and ever more sinister ways for The Enchantress to win the heart of the everyman. Or everyperson.

Silence is a menagerie. Perhaps, more to the point, silence is a metaphorical zoo. Literally, a zoo for metaphors. It is an interstitial zone; it is an illuminating device; it is a segue, enabling transformation. Silence is also very personal. The experience of silence is like a fingerprint, or the surface of internal organs. No two are the same.

Mostly, though, silence is a great speaker of truth. It is a zoom lens for self-reflection. It is Obama at the podium. It is the glass-bottomed boat in which you can sail over the history of yourself. Of course, this can be as sane as gargling with razors. Damocles was more comfortable. But once you hit on peaceful waters, well, let’s just say that there may be no better way to travel.

The mouth yearns to form around a wish that has a perfect fit; to surrender the tongue to arousal; to pull from the visceral depths a swift ejaculate of air and meaning. The breath forms unions between actions and bodies, and in proximity to this we merge with the language – becoming grief; becoming sex; becoming love – becoming the movement and the moved.

To become the language is to be embedded in the womb of pathos; to be part of the torn and the healed, part of the great torment and the greater salvation: to be simultaneously articulated and ineffable. To be understood is a desire deeper than The Abyss itself. To be the wish that a mouth forms around is perfect bliss.

I think that the one of the most important virtues in life is to value what it is that you undertake for a living. In this talk, Bill Strickland’s vision for education comes across as not only refreshing, but decidely humane. The practical application of dignity to programs that attempt to alter the lives of the impoverished, along with a dedication to use only top grade materials and personnel while doing so is almost unheard of in the social sector. To not only do this, but to emphasise that the experience itself must be beautiful (works of art everywhere one looks, fresh flowers, fountains) is radical.

The take home message here is that the mindset can be applied to any type of field: mode of delivery is choice – so is economy.

Ad hominem attacks implode in the jungle. Coarse laughter is the only parry a foe requires to deflect any such attempt. An enemy as heralded as The Reaper Of Tongues demands an arsenal of purest chaos. The Reaper keeps Havoc at heel, unleashed, for such occasion.

The song of The Enchantress breaks the silence, her crooning barely masking the insane drone of waking machinery in the distance. The cloud of hearts rises above the canopy of the jungle, pulled by her song, like a noose of seduction, towards The Nightmare Engine. A constellation of dead autonomy fills the night sky. Each heart is to be fodder, dessicated for the End Of Times, including your own.

Now this, this is inspiring. I think Karen Armstrong’s work is awesome. If you haven’t checked out the charter yet, do so here.

This is an abecedarian verse, written for this site’s poetry and literature glossary. The overarching premise of this type of poem is that (beginning with “A”) each new word in the poem starts with a successive letter in the alphabet. (A, B, C, D, E, etc.)

As Becky cried, darkness eventually fell,

granting her invisibility.

Joy keeps losing momentum:

negative, obscenely probing questions;

repeatedly stating that understanding

vanity was xenophobia,

yielded zero.

I love TED talks, and this is in my all time favorite top ten. The wonderful thing about Evelynn Glennie is her passion for percussion, in spite of her deafness. Throughout her talk, Evelynn uses both her deafness and music as metaphors for teaching us new ways of listening, not just to music, but to the world, and to each other.

You’ve just got to love Misery Bear.