Find a little Place 

  "You poor did you manage to come all
this distance into the wide world on  such a rapid rolling stream?"



"When patterns are broken, new worlds emerge."
-- Tuli Kupferberg


 "the crooked path seems straight to those who walk it.
Death is an illusion, truth is an  illusion.
Reality is anything you want it to be and freedom..."

      Such a little word, freedom, such a small request
and yet the asking of it has consumed the soul of a people

                                                                                                   The Eagle and the Raven

      The Carrick Monument is typical of its kind. It has a marble
plinth, two life-size soldiers made of lead in battle
dress, leaning forward with their bayonets at the ready,
protecting a female lead figure--Liberty--in a flimsy
robe. All three of the figures stare at something ahead.
    The children of Carrick (when there were children in
Carrick) used to wonder what it was the three were
looking at. At some enemy only they could see? At the
disused Carrick Church directly in front of them? At the
hills beyond? Long ago, I made myself intimate with the
sharp edges of the plinth and the textured coldness of the
figures. Along with the other Carrick boys I used to climb
the Monument, caress the groin and the exposed nipples
of Liberty and look directly into her face and the faces of
the two guardians.

    That was how we found the answer to the mystery. The
eyes  of the three figures were carved inwards, looking
back into themselves. The enemy was an enemy within.
    But the mystery of the eyes wouldn't teast anyone any
longer. On that January morning, all of us gathered there
on the Green could see that the lead faces of the three
figures had been hacked away and only ridged scars
remained. Further down, jammed into the groin of Liberty,
was a bayonet that had been broken off one of her
guardians' rifles.
Sentinel Hogg, his eyelashes fluttering rapidly as they
always do, was looking for clues in the manner of his trade.
He was most anxious about the plinth, where there should
have been a metal plaque with the names of all towns-
people killed in the war. For there was no plaque now,
only an indecent blank space, like exposed white flesh;
and on the space, sprayed in red paint, was a large circle.
-Erick McCormack
The Mysterium




other neat stuff and places to go to by Yue!


damn cool comic info (no, this page has not been updated yet)

artwork by me n others :)

Poetry of the Month

my doggy

hee! linky-dinks

thought of the day







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