Posted in Photography, Soul Journal

Into the abyss


The kind of books that make us happy
are the kind we could write ourselves
if we had to.

It matters not if i am known. Or remain a mystery. The matter is that i am wholly me.

Not wanting accolades or seeking a tribe. The tribe always moves on to bigger houses and better views. I choose to stay in my shell.

And in my space, i read the kind of book that stabs and wounds. If the book doesn’t wake me with a blow to the head, what am i reading for?

We need books that affect us like a disaster. That grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves. Like being banished into forests far from everyone. Like a suicide.

A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief.