When angels fall, they call them devils. When mortals fly, they call them saints. Some angels have horns; some devils have wings.

Every saint has a secret past; every sinner, an awaited future. The past creates, nurtures, and sustains fear. There is no fear that is not founded in the past. There can be no fear without submission to the past. There will be no fear once free of the past.

Between recollection and reverie, there is life unencumbered by fear. Fuck fear. Forbid it. All fear is fallacy. All fear is delusion. All fear is fatal. Disentangle yourselves from the ravelled, choking maze of caution.

Your fearless surrender to whatever befalls you, to whatever calls you, is your only guarantee of the fullness of the present. You want to perform a miracle? You can – a mere mortal. Simply forgive yourself, your past; forgive others, their pasts.

There is no sin without guilt; no guilt without shame; no shame without fear; no fear without servility. No truth for the poet but that soaked in blood.