journey through

Let us not live in the world of lies where questions are asked in the heat of the moment and answers given in the hours of drunkenness. Let us not be in a hurry to look at each other when bullets are flying left, right and centre, when we are all clouded by fear and false bravado. Let us not cross the line that is drawn between us, the line that separates the sane from the rest of us. We are but lovers in the night, touching around to feel our way, running into obstacles in an attempt to outrun each other. We are but a people running after nothing but ourselves. We are meant to be but strangers with miles between us in this giant bed of life. We are nothing but naked men and women chasing after lust, after satisfaction that will keep us on our toes for a minute and fill us with guilt the next. We are but a people glowing in the aftermath of our sin, afraid of where we have come from, afraid of where we are going, chasing after our very own tails like demented dogs. We are lovers

Hans Burgkmair the elder (1473 - 1531). RA Collection When times became unkind to me, I wrote a prayer to fate, telling it to have mercy on me, for I was but an innocent lamb, and it replied with a noose around my neck and a stool at my feet. I wrote to fate, to tell it that my days had become harsh and unfair, but it told me to sit and pray, like all the other mortals. I told it that my master had closed his eyes and heart to me, but it told me that I was not loud enough. It told me to stand on the rooftop, to rend my clothes and to pierce my skin in holy supplication, but I told it that my knees were weak and my will was like a sunken well, of no use. I told it that I wanted to pray with my heart, but that was where it hurt most and it told me that I was too far from redemption. I wrote to fate and told it that my lips were chapped and that my throat was raspy, and it told me to accept my sentence, to serve like the prisoner of life, to live trapped like a rogue and greedy mou