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Sometimes the things we believe we hear are really just our own shifting needs.
“The word autopsy is a relative of the word autopsia, which in the ancient vernacular of the Greeks means to see for oneself. In the amphitheater of the great beyond, we all do our own autopsies. These self-imposed autopsies are done not on the physical body of our being but on the spirit of it. We call these ultimate examinations the autopsy of the soul.”
A foolish mistake, it is, to expect the beast, because sometimes, sometimes, it is the flower’s turn to own the name.
A boy whose black crayon would be the shortest in his box.
They were poems handwritten by nature to him,
Then he said how her hair reminded him of the color of leaves in the autumn. “Red and burnt by an October oven.”
“You can tell a lot about a man by what he does with a snake.”
But a snake that is no threat will greatly define the man who decides to kill it anyways.”
“The moment I fell, my wings wilted like roses left too long in the vase. The misery of the bare back is to live after flight, to be the low that will never again rise.
“What you see before you is what lost reflects when it looks into a muddy puddle.”
I am not the ruler of hell. I am merely its first and most famous sufferer turned custodian with the key to the gate in my back pocket.”
“Somewhere along the way, I lost that apostrophe and now it’s only Hell. But hidden in that one word is God will forgive me. God will forgive me. That is what is behind my door, you understand. A world of no apostrophes and, therefore, no hope.”
“As I dangled there in the sky from His hand, I knew He didn’t want to let me go. But I also knew that if He did not let go, He would be ruined by holding onto me. So in that choice, I let go of Him. I had to, for His sake. I had to fall as the Devil, so He could stay the God.”
When someone shouts devil, you shield against the horns.
Little cuts, tiny slashes, small scribbles that wouldn’t be seen unless you were really looking. Looking for the curtain to have the tiny hole in its valance or the rug to be missing its seventh fringe. Things taken away. That was how he saw his presence.
The morning he left, he took our names from us.
“Because those laces are everything, and when everything gets untied, you don’t stop tripping just because the shoes are off.”
“I’m tyin’ them. So they won’t trip you anymore.”
She ate the comfort she couldn’t find anywhere else. Padding piled upon her as defense for the hard in life.
“People always ask, why does God allow suffering? Why does He allow a child to be beaten? A woman to cry? A holocaust to happen? A good dog to die painfully? Simple truth is, He wants to see
for Himself what we’ll do. He’s stood up the candle, put the devil at the wick, and now He wants to see if we blow it out or let it burn down. God is suffering’s biggest spectator.
he was helped by the heat and of all things by Sal himself, who came in the right color, willing to be called devil.
