Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I wish I could jump up and grab hold of the fan and have its arms rotate me. Then I could feel connected to its regularity and have a nice breeze on my body. Advertisements
I love putting on a sweater face first and being warmly hidden while my hands search feelingly for the sleeves. It’s a brief and socially acceptable reprieve that touches on my desire for a cat’s indolent lifestyle.
The cracks of man are many and more with the draw of a day holding a store. From sleepless nights to drowsy days, the hidden inner the outer betrays. The foundation, fated to fall, fell through nascent neglect and shady shawl. The bust is broken, the tatters token, the seismic silence spoken. The question left… Continue reading Poetic Pathetic
The makers of umbrellas must have a love/hate relationship with hair. They don’t want hair to get wet, but it’s all cool that the spokes will rip your hair out if your head even touches them. Baldness already runs in my family, so I don’t really need to give it a head start. Is that… Continue reading Umbrellas
Happy birthday America, may your candles light up the world and an infant immigrant’s face with the wish already granted by your existence.
I want to be a warrior for whimsy, a flighty fighter, a Wilde winning Oscar flaunting the firmness of flimsy.
He looked up from the table away from his laptop, too bright to pass for natural amidst the dim surroundings, briefly recalling that more than this exists. There was a girl once. She would smile and he would smile, stretching a face frozen too often in an expression attempting to convey scholarly apathy. He had… Continue reading Taking a break