I am very comfortable in this Cloud of Unknowing.

January 31

I am very comfortable in this Cloud of Unknowing.

I have given up trying to get the electricity hooked up in the Chapel. The night can stay dark and my soul will still shine.

I am tired of being what I was. I thought I knew what was mask and what was soul, but it turns out I had it back-asswards.

It was easier to lie down on the funereal pyre and let my friends pile up kindling towards heaven.

They thought I would burn, but I climbed their structure of Judas deceit and emerged unborn.

I mean, I burned. I burned like the ovens, like the desert, like Dante's 8th circle.

I mean, I melted. I melted like crayons in the sun, like the first snowfall, like a bitch in the east.

I mean, I died. I died like the '60s, like an ancient hope, like a child.

I mean, I LIVED.