Sunday, 30 November 2014
'What is art? What is love? And what does it feel like to know you are going to die?' God asked.
Posted by Bo Fowler at 10:21 No comments:
Sunday, 23 November 2014
Just because something doesn't 'mean' anything doesn't mean it doesn't mean anything.
Posted by Bo Fowler at 03:22 No comments:
Sunday, 16 November 2014
Invisible metaphor of everything.
Figment of our genes.
Distant relative we never had.
Optical effect of our minds.
Giant, hollow echo.
Long evolved shadow cascading down our double helix.
Faceless face with the eyeless eyes.
Posted by Bo Fowler at 11:12 No comments:
Sunday, 9 November 2014
The Holy Man
From a young age K. spent all his time in church.
The Bible was his colouring-in-book.
He slept on top of a tomb and hung his coat on the cross.
He ate at the alter table, pissed in the font and shat in the pews.
On Sundays he went outside to pray.
Posted by Bo Fowler at 09:22 1 comment:
Sunday, 2 November 2014
"Why do you stand so close to the abyss?"
Posted by Bo Fowler at 09:54 No comments:
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