In union, bodies braid like molten dusk, time dissolves in trembling, liquid loops. Each thrust, a cascade of incandescent flesh, melts the lattice of desire into luminous streams. On Turnus’ bloodstained stage, destiny convulses, the spear arcs — a comet tearing fate’s brittle cloak. Its weight is a litany of echoes, ancient Rome thrums in its relentless recoil. Upon the cross, the still figure sways, silence sharp as obsidian, piercing the marrow. The spear bites paradox — a wound that sings, revealing visions only fire and shadow can contain. Through the corridors of history, the acts resound, thrust, pierce, penetrate — each echo a prism, each prism a doorway into fervent wonder.
"Thought Crumbs" is the blog of yours truly, Al Scott Pearce Baker. Here, I scatter musings, short stories, poetry, and paintings, and ponder various art forms, both traditional and digital. Follow along, and who knows where you’ll end up.
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Terrible Miracle
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Rap music, for all its bravado and poetic dexterity, has always been as much about power as it is about sound. From the block parties of the...
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Hip-hop, that volatile ballet of syllables and swagger, resists reduction. It is neither mere music nor mere movement, but a masquerade of...
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Heraclitus of Ephesus ignites fascination and perplexity alike. Weaver of riddles, herald of fire, he stands not as a builder of systems b...
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