Tom Daxon, Resin Sacra
Hey little girl. You know where the coolest spot in town is?
Delores Purdy figured it was a graveyard when she told her story, honey-dipped lies about two bodies stretched out on that nice cool marble tombstone. Sixteen and burning up in Mississippi. Sins of summertime, when no dark place is sacred. She was not the first to fall, praying.
For centuries we have gathered inside these cold stone walls. Stained glass windows let in light-by-design, but there’s no warmth here. Only an invitation to the faithful and the frenzied, a paucity of the purest passion. And so (by the laws of nature) we fill the empty spaces. We blaze under the empty eyes of angels, frozen in flight.
We dare you, they seem to say. Ignite.
featured photo by Stuart Anthony for flickr