A day of mourning for George HW Bush
It’s a new world order.
…and a thousand points of light
are less than nothing
in a million miles of darkness.
The Turning – Samhain 1991 1. In this dry land crickets fear to chirp for waste of moisture. Rattlers bleach their bones, listless in the summer scald. 2. I don't want to say too much for fear of being misconstrued or maybe for fear of being understood all too clearly so here's your warning – sometimes the blooming of flowers is a literal thing, unfurling in the dewfall to kiss mother sky good morrow. And sometimes wolves change their sheep clothes for pinstripes. Then these truths we hold to be self-evident fade to black, seven ancient words lost in the pageantry and white noise – bites, topspin, code. Make no mistake: style has triumphed over substance; our shamans hire out as consultants; God is coming to pay-per-view; and a thousand points of light are less than nothing in a million miles of darkness. Surely some gentle beast, its hour come round at last, stirs, casts its drowsy eyes across the land. Surely it wonders – what is this terrible myth My Word has become? 3. If there are gods of rain, of sky and storm season, if there are gods... I face the Samhain moonrise, walk a circle three times and burn a prayer into the wind. Rain on us as though it never rained before. Teach our desolation of drenching, our deserts the wonder of floodplains.