the carcasses of apples.

Journal entry // April 10th, 2025 // Shadow expression

It feels like I’m treading in tar. Unable to move. Sinking quickly.

And I stand here, as in a dream, helpless. Complicit in a fatal passivity. Paralyzed, but not without care. Only without the will to do anything about it.

I am a snail crushed beneath the boot of a passerby. A pile of dung in the grass. Beetles steal from me in fragments; I am there for the taking.

The spirituality I once possessed… The vitality….

All I have left is naive delusion and the vain crusade of its recovery.

I convince myself of the honor in candor. Of meaning as a justification for living. Of nobility in elevating oneself above the mundane, above the standard.

But my head has hit the ceiling. My body can no longer grow.

And so I envy all those born outside of closed doors. I envy those who belong somewhere. To something.

My heart and mind remain open, but they are trapped within the walls of a desecrated temple. A ruinous spirit broken beyond its years.

I am old.

And the serpent approaches still.

What is there left to take?

A flash of satisfaction, of dominance, of pity flickers across its tongue.

The carcasses of apples surround me in chains.

I was David. I was Mona Lisa. I was Hyacinth.

A great pride is gained when the shadow usurps the self. Vague shades of youth can be seen protruding beneath the muck. But I am mostly ugly.

Where are you, my boy? Where are you?

I call the child home. My voice echoes in an empty chamber.

But when I am sleeping, I can hear the faintness of his voice calling back beyond the cave.

And if I open my eyes, I am in a field.

And it is silent, but not deafening. The bruises on my skin have cleared away. The wind caresses my face.

I run toward a summit I cannot climb, but out here my head has room to grow, and I am blinded by the brightness of the sun. Its warmth amazes me.

I no longer care about the symbols of beauty. Simply, I exist in them. With infant imagination. With impregnable love.

And it is only when I force my eyes to shut again that I realize I am awake.

And I am left alone with the words of God.

She tells me: Truth? Truth is not a noble pursuit.

And then I understand: what can we insects know about truth?

The Kingdom is only for the sleeping.