all saints start here

to be holy is beautifully impossible

this is definitely not me

wild boar jumping through the woods

for you brother J. W. for you J. and W.

the sky is here compact like a metal pig-house

under which we grunt for precision,

but you, my friend, are free.

and don’t worry about time – time is the only thing we have;

stop finding it, just write, love and, yes,

make something beautiful

like the sound of this wild boar

caught jumping through the woods. 

ready inclined

already halved. inclined

to light. soiled in beauty.

what are we but a bag of bones and love?

some of the most beautiful things wouldn't exist without suffering.

this is the proper mystery of the world.

Romanian village in winter