where it makes sense

Arms extended to my sides, I drag my finger tips along the walls of the hall of Valhalla. The richness of its impact on my touch is like braille to my consciousness. The sweet caressing stench engulfs me and offers an illusion of comfort and control. The imperceptible echo from the friction reminds me of why I’m here- to simply walk down this place. My insignificance within these walls is so thick I can taste it. It tastes bitter, but, somehow relieving, somehow freeing, somehow satisfying and somehow draining, in a good way. But then I see the truth of it all. The hall has no beginning and no end. There is no was,and  there is no will be. There is only Valhalla, held together by me.

-Enash Doog



Thought’s objection to deprivation echoes in my ears. Its muted screams fill an insatiable space.  It wants it so I open its gates, its eyes, my eyes. Thought wants light. Thought develops lights. Its camera misprints onto the strangest of nothings. Its camera is not broken, but the process is flawed. Light groans beneath its raping verdict, its mutilation at the hands of this limbless machine. Thought is light though, the result of it, the extension of it, the end of it and the beginning of it. Light does it to itself. Without light, there would be no objection to begin with.

-Enash Doog

incident beneath a threat

You, a designated problem of mine, recall yourself throughout my flow. My boredom determines when to ignite the protected gasoline underneath the impulse to turn away. My mind riots past your lean featureless receipt. I know you were here- the hollow impression left behind gives you away. My wary flaw dances with conceit behind your unattended scheme. At the last fade, might mind bore under the array?

-Enash Doog