If you can't go back to your mother's womb, you'd better learn to be a good fighter.
fighting mother womb
Life turns, and returns death. Where death digs its claws into the grave only to pull out life, as a baby from a womb; and the recycle of air, the recycle of struggles that never achieve satisfaction, in a constant turning world, of an untuned universe.
death life recycle rotating satisfaction struggles universe womb
Her body accepted my brutal seed and took it to swell within, just as the patient earth accepts a falling fruit into its tender soil to cradle and nourish it to grow. Came a time, just springtime last, our infant child pushed through the fragile barrier of her womb. Her legs branched out, just as the wood branches out from these eternal trees around us; but she was not hardy as they. My wife groaned with blood and ceased to breathe. Aye, a scornful eve that bred the kind of pain only a god can withstand.
babies baby blood chidbirth child cradle death death-and-dying death-inspirational dying earth eternal fruit god god-s-love growth infant life nourish nourishment pain painful pregnancy pregnant pregnant-woman pregnant-women soil sorrow sorrowful stillbirth womb
I wanted to feel the blood running back into my veins, even at the cost of annihilation. I wanted to shake the stone and light out of my system. I wanted the dark fecundity of nature, the deep well of the womb, silence, or else the lapping of the black waters of death. I wanted to be that night which the remorseless eye illuminated, a night diapered with stars and trailing comets. To be of night so frighteningly silent, so utterly incomprehensible and eloquent at the same time. Never more to speak or to listen or to think.
annihilation blood eloquent fecundity incomprehensible light nature silence stars stone veins womb
