I’ve censored the following, in protest of a bill that gives any corporation and the US government the power to censor the internet–a bill that could pass THIS WEEK. To see the uncensored text, and to stop internet censorship, visit: http://americancensorship.org/posts/45428/uncensor

I █████’t had a █████ ████ of ████ for ██████ in ████ as my job █████████ to be a ██████████ ████ ████. The ████████ ████ ████ ██████ the ████ was ████████ ███████ WAY ████ ████ ████ ████ I had a ████ ████ and ██████ up on the ████████. I see my ████████ did it’s job. ████!

██████, I had to ████ at █████ a █████ ██████ to ████ up ████ █████ THE █████ ████ ███████ the ████/████ ███████████. ████ and ████ █████████ are ████████ ████ ████ our █████ ██████████ for ███████ and █████████. ████ █████████ to ██████ a ██████████ ████ █████ ████ █████. If ██████████ ████ █████ ████, the █████ we can ██████ is the █████ to █████ ███████ ██████████.

So ████ YOU ████/████. Get ████ █████ off my ████████!

Uncensor This

 

I am more often than not amazed at how everything that can be done likely has been done. At the least, so many more intrepid souls have gone before me, saying the things I wish I could say. Identifying those dark places where my soul dwells in such a way as to seem as if they were speaking to me all along. Perhaps, if one is observant enough, a sidelong glance down the very ecliptic of time catches the reflection from past, present & future enough to be seen simultaneously. The late, great Edgar Allen Poe was a tortured soul, but every word dripping from his pen has spoken to me in ways few other artists ever could. If I had possessed the words, the following would have been my autobiography. As I did not, thank you Edgar for understanding and helping me to understand…

Alone, by Edgar Allen Poe

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

© 2012 Brother Wolf & Sister Moon Suffusion theme by Sayontan Sinha