Andy Tithesis

“And yet, for my art and for my loved ones, I will gladly endure to the end.”
― Egon Schiele

“Become desert, the great silty gobs
Rise up in whirlwinds and subsist under miasma
Of sediments aloft: dust-storms inherit
The powerful cells of the old gorals:
The vacated seabed's stark unfinished frame
Roils with lightnings and thunders down to the trenches

Which despite centuries keep filling in
With an oily ooze pressed from corpse Sargassos
In a chain of trapdoor--bottom Dead Seas
By mile-deep muds laid down as secret essence
Of all the ingenuities fielded above.
In them the newest become most ancient mires.

Profound air clubs like a meteor-hammer
The misfits weaned more in shallows, but the bones,
The kraken carapaces, litter both
Guys-slope and plain, can yon and domdaniel
Rearing like cere brat ranges from the chat
Of midge-mollusks uncountable, minor life..”
― William Scott Home, Stain of Moonlight

“A quarter-moon smeared a feverish glow on the marble slabs and dappled the trodden weeds that beleaguered them with a pale dewy leprosy; only the massy shadows which clustered around the trunks of the ancient oaks and beeches escaped its infection.”
― William Scott Home, Hollow Faces, Merciless Moons

“Nothing more to pursue, except the pursuit of nothing.”
― Emil Cioran, The Temptation to Exist