Archive for March, 2011


Posted: March 30, 2011 by zacharyandgillian in October 2010

Family.  That was the word that must be used to describe it.  That connection that they shared.  That ethereal but existent bond.

Civilization has forgotten its proper definition, an amnesia induced by a dependence on the letter of the Law.  In its place, it has hoisted a new definition – a cold and paltry thing involving heredity and genetics.  A lineage of entitlement based on paper-trail of last names and legal games.  That is what the word had become to mean: a statement of fact instead of a statement of feeling.

But that distinction was reduced to the punch-line of a ridiculous joke, for this merry duo.  What was in a name, if it was not too in action?  And so, in looking at what they had grown, cultivated, and matured into brilliance through careful study, appreciation and some good weather, the dictionary definition provided little substance.  What civilization had forgotten, they had remembered. 

They had remembered that it is within the heart of a beast that resides its motivation.  They remembered that it was not enough to offer help but to provide it, and that it was not possible to be both honourable and lazy.  They remembered that a proactive approach was not above and beyond – it was the barest of minimums. 

They remembered that a fault made is a fault forgivable and that forgiveness was a sacred privilege of their sovereignty, not a right of their title.  They remembered that their community was built off of more than just blood.  Sweat and tears made foundations hold.  It made their abandonment tragic, and their use reliable.

They remembered that it was the spirit of the law that mattered.  They remembered that it is he who follows the spirit of the law that follows the letter of it, but for the sake of that spirit.  For they remembered that it was the soul that mattered.

Labels beyond those recollections were merely clothing for the meek.  Family didn’t worry about nakedness.

It was once proffered that truth could be told without giving a name.  That a song could sing about a subject without explaining the game.  And with their existence, they did the same.

They gave truth.  They sang songs.  They stripped their blankets.  They lived their lives.

They remembered.

Photography by Gillian Berger
Writing by Zach Webster


Crying in the Rain

Posted: March 17, 2011 by Zachary in March 2011

Within a single drop of water is the kaleidoscope of a million possibilities.

Created within the combination of simple atoms is a complex universe.  Each set of molecules in turn comes together to offer a mosaic of parallel paths.  Each avenue a roaring tide of hope and desire.  Moving ‘twixt and ‘tween them as way bumps in to way are back eddies of contempt.  An ocean of existence, within the circumference of a single salty moment of lover’s release.

The air covets such reality.  So brief a time does the crystal clear perfection of a falling orb linger.  Gravity is a relentless coveter of such beauty.  While joy rises like steam from a kettle, sadness and relief are pursued equally by the ground.  Their weight the density of a thousand worries manifest.  A hundred emotions given form.

The earth shatters them.  Their many importances scatter across a desolate and barren wasteland of uniformity.  Of a solidity given warmth and comfort by anything but itself.  Here, the broken potential of perfection seeps into the soil below.  The dreams of yesterday disappear into its new callous master, but softens its heart.  The once dry, soaks.  What was barren becomes fertile.

Stone rejects them.  The infinitude of countless meanings are cast aside, exiled, as surely as a single one alone.  There, they wait.  Existence knows all patience.  All roads lead to back the way they came.  Divine resurrection.

Water welcomes them.  A single drop cascades from sea to sea.  From a thick cloud of mind’s content or heart’s lament, it pools in the glassy stillness of an unblinked eye.  And once the chains are broken by a closing lid, the tides usher it forth to its kindred spirit below.  Water unto water is a celebration.  Fireworks: the sound of water’s echo.  Their ripples are the dance of life.

A single soul amidst countless bodies is lost.  A single sphere amidst a family of falling droplets is found.  An immaculate conception.  Home at last.

“A Stately Pleasure-Dome Decree”

Posted: March 8, 2011 by Zachary in March 2011

It was a quiet moment and a quarter past true,
When in the finer spirits known to man,
He quaffed his drink and grinned his grin,
And quoted the poem of Kubla Kahn.

“He” was a man of no great import,
His morning cant a noble truce,
Like shower and shave and pressed clean clothes.
The drink was fresh squeezed orange juice.

In a countless floor of a tower made of glass
It was the top of the morning, day’s first hue.
Silence sat his noble listener,
As he spoke from ear to ear of Xanadu.

Though perhaps he knew not its claim,
The poem to him remained the same:
The words’ meaning was lost on him,
But the importance of the tone was plain.

A chant to break a witch’s spell,
The telling of the tale was smiling care,
Like waking from a grey sky dream,
With God’s breath upon the midnight air.

That subtle hint of new day crisp,
A promise of morning was its decree,
When granted upon the hearing heart,
Wings to help the soul break free.

It a guard against melancholy,
Was a daily draught of this elixir,
For a long afflicted and delicate body, meditation
Not beyond the devil; amidst her.

As the last words licked is dancing lips,
His toes tucked in and his body tipped.
And as he turned the silence clapped.
He bid adieu the devil’s grip.

(Editor’s note: For more on the poem “Kubla Khan” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge which is referenced in this poem, and is where the quotation that makes up the title of this work comes from, see