Essay: On Decay
The menacing artistry of a rusted piece of tin, the pulse of its patina, incrustations. Sharp corners demand such sharpness. A shine requires work, exertion, planning, orders, but decay invites a slide into introspection, madness, abandonment, brilliance. The rebellion of the lost cause. Jagged brims threaten to claw. An eerie acquiescence. Abeyance. Disintegration like exhalation, like meditation. The lonely peace that can only be found in states of desuetude. So leave me alone, please, to enjoy the molds and rusts that find me. Let me tarnish and gaze upon my preferred russet shades. God is in the dust of remnants.
Wow, this one amazing. More like prose or poetry but it still tells a story.