With a gypsy soul the rebel rolls along the road that goes between sea and stone. Free to roam this land alone until he finds his home. The cold bones of winters tomb urged this heart to search for room. Room to run, to breathe, to move. Room and board where sea meets shore and waters roar to drown the sound of silence. Waves break with unrelenting violence to make way for peace. A cosmic sigh of relief. Reaching toward the sky with the trees he seeks release from the lie that forms a divide between he and birds and beasts.

He and you and me.

-Vagrant Saint

What strange and desperate age is this? We who exploit our very existence to the eyes of all who gaze. What strange and desperate days. With our pocket gods and broken necks we consume and move. False relevance and artificial intelligence fuel our moods. Media masquerades crave constant attention, but silence breeds wisdom. Seclusion gives visions. Unplug from the system, at least for a couple of minutes. Listen, Everything is famous and instantaneous, nothing is dangerous and spontaneous. Consume until we’re brainless. Follow until we’re faithless. Awaiting the next facelift. Cosmetic injection to mask the neglect of vital organs on the other side of the transection. Are we blind to our self-inflicted transgression? Is there an antidote for this pestilent infection?

-Vagrant Saint

(Art= German Painter: Caspar David Friedrich 1774-1840)