I Follow the Path of the Comet
Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume Breathes a life of gathering gloom; Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying, Sealed in the stone cold tomb. #
My friend and colleague Wood Ingham wrote the most amazing Christmas poem, one of the best things I’ve read all year, something I’ve read over and over, and something that has sent me down giant rabbit holes the likes of which I have not experienced in probably two years (and inspired this tweet). Seriously, go read it.
For music: We Three Kings of Orient Are by Sufjan Stevens.