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Our Flame will never be Extinguished

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  Our Flame will never be Extinguished The chosen elite who entered the rotting, worm-eaten confessional to seize the primrose were never saviours sent to bring lasting peace or settled order. That was merely vanity blazoned across their heraldry. In truth, they were the indispensable stewards of the loop, anointed not to break the wheel, but to ensure its teeth kept grinding. They took the pale, delicate bloom, the Acclimatisation Society’s consecrated symbol of subjugation, fully aware that planting it within the unyielding ironstone would provoke the very friction keeping the world aflame. They required the transgression; they needed the spark. For the empire does not endure by resting in triumph, but feeds upon the perpetual, exhausting struggle of its own unfinished conquest. As rebels swarm the grand, baroque plazas and consume the cathedral of yesterday, they believe they are dismantling their oppressors' fortress. Raising torches, they watch ancient spires dissolve into a t...
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Photo Cullen Bay Utensils

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I want the direct experience
And devour it in full
And in the presence of my time

I do not want incomprehensible transcendence
Nor do I want the just of divine intervention

I want to profit whilst bathing in enlightenment
Make profit whilst demanding entitlement
Bask in my overwhelming brilliance
And wanting to hammer the life out of itself

Questioning the thing in itself
To employ the utensils of power
To challenge our spectrum
To become limitless






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