Jacob Geller

Shall I compare thee to a plastic guitar Thou art more lovely, and more kinetic

with the power of their lives while from the dim-lit halls of other places forms that could never be writhe for the impatience of the few who have never seen or been seen.

We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And watch where the chalk-white hollows go To the place where Lordran ends.

"Where are the people?” resumed the little prince at last. “It’s a little lonely in the desert…” “It is lonely when you’re among people, too,” said the snake.

And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout, But there is no joy in Hyrule—mighty Ganon has struck out.

Samuel Beckett once said, “Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness”...on the other hand, he SAID it. -Art Spiegelman, 1992 CW: Descriptions of both historical and contemporary Nazism and White Supremacy, depictions of extreme violence, some discussion and depiction of child abuse (in context of Wolfenstein), brief discussion of animal abuse (in context of Wolfenstein), significant discussion of anti-semitism and the holocaust.

Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

A picture lives by companionship, expanding and quickening in the eyes of the sensitive observer. It dies by the same token...how often it must be impaired by the eyes of the unfeeling and the cruelty of the impotent.

"You're not understanding, are you? The brain does the thinking. The meat." “Thinking meat! You're asking me to believe in thinking meat!" "Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal!"

Where are you? I don’t know. How can I? Which way is up? I’m falling. Good God, I’m falling.

Upon it, their imagination shaped new ideals. They returned to their homes, each one of them carrying in their soul the shadow of the white cloud, each of them permeated by the most subtle and slow-acting of poisons.

a mystery which will never happen again, a miracle which has never happened before– and shining this our now must come to then

A world of made is not a world of born

They walk out under the branches of hopelessness They think of this world welcoming the bodies of their sons.

and you leave behind you a heroic trail of desolation

I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed, nothing between me and the white fire of the stars but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths

Some time after the looting, the locked gates, the US tank stood idle in a gallery