FIVE STARS
It was more than work. It was her way out. Out of sleeping on her cousin’s couch, out of endless VA paperwork, out of remembering every goddamn thing the uniform didn’t protect her from.
Creative Writing
Your space to let your imagination soar with stories, poems, and plays.
GLOW
“Oh God,” he whispered. Something glowed behind her teeth. It was an unsettling shimmer, moving within the shadows of her mouth.
The Book
I didn’t seek out this life, or rather lack thereof, but was cursed with it, so to speak, as a consequence of my arrogance and curiosity. I have always been the type to desire what I can not have, and knowledge, when guarded, becomes the object of ultimate desire.
The Clean up
They came to haul junk. They unlocked a family secret that refuses to stay dead. A chilling tale of grief, possession, and the one job that should never have been taken. Perfect for fans of occult horror and sinister haunted-object stories.
The Creaky Door
Behind him, the basement door slowly creaks open. Dave peers over the top of his seat. Shadows seem to creep up the basement steps and inch their way across the living room. Dave walks to the door, grabs its knob. He peers into the basement’s black maw.
The Well on the side of the Highway
She shivers in the chilly air of the autumn night. Her white dress offers little protection from the cold night. The moon seems to have a hole in it as she looks up at it.
The Well on the side of the Highway Read More »
Knock, Knock
The first time I heard the knocking from the mirror, I thought I was crazy. To be honest I was also quite drunk that first time, and I chalked it up to the pounding in my brain caused by the tequila so I went to bed. The next time, however, I was stone cold sober
The Return
In the rotting bowels of New York City, the shelter system doesn’t save addicts—it feeds on them. Battle-scarred veteran Teddy Williams stumbles into Steps to a Better Life, a crumbling former school crawling with the city’s damned. The hallways choke on the stench of decay. Staff flash blood-red teeth and skin like refrigerated meat. And something massive in a black trench coat and fedora stalks the shadows… sometimes on wings. When the vampires secretly test his blood, they uncover the impossible: Teddy carries the dormant essence of Vlad Dracula himself—the prophesied weapon that will drag their kind screaming back to the top of the food chain. Now he’s the unwilling heart of a savage ritual. His bloodthirsty ex-wife lies chained to the sacrificial altar. A seductive vampiress circles him with promises of eternal night. And a deformed hellspawn enforcer, reeking of grave soil and rot, waits to tear him apart if he resists. Trapped in a nightmare of fangs, prophecy, and 80s-soaked vampire brutality, Teddy must claw back his soul before sunrise unleashes an age of terror. Some shelters help you get clean. This one rips your throat open and drains you screaming.
my entry- the unfaced man
Note- sorry its short i hope you liked this short story also if you read the name of the chapters together it leaves a foreshadowing note which i thought was cool. -rowdy also this was made possible with the help of kind people who looked over the first version so thanks to albert moss, austin curtiss, alex (jay) cantrell, eli garret, erin brown, joyanne maske, luckas jordan and last but not least rex conner.
my entry- the unfaced man Read More »
Aunt Jane’s Will
How did I wind up here? That begins a story that started with the death of my mother, and my becoming the ward of my Aunt at the age of nine. She had always been somewhat of an eccentric, and as aforementioned I was not allowed beyond the sitting room to any of the rooms I now explored. I had no idea what I would find, and part of that terrified me. How cold it be that this woman who had raised me after losing her sister, never married, and had this gigantic house had kept so much hidden away?
Whispers Between the Lines: A Romance Through Letters
Dear Evelyn, I must admit, your letter was both a welcome and a stunning surprise. I read it more than once, absorbing each word carefully so I could let it fully sink in. Each reading, I felt a little more hope stirring beneath the weight I carry. The station was a strange place — so full of noise and life, yet heavy with all the things unsaid and unseen. I arrived home with more questions than answers, haunted by what I’ve lived through. But your words, your courage to reach out, reminded me that even in uncertain times, connection can take root. I won’t pretend I am ready to lay my heart bare just yet. War has a way of hardening a man, and I’m still finding my way back to the world I left behind. But your letter brought a quiet light, a possibility I didn’t know I needed. I want to know more about you; your thoughts, your dreams, the small things that make your days. I hope you’ll write again, and we can begin this slow unfolding. Until then, take care of yourself. I’ll be here, reading your words and holding onto that spark. Ever patiently awaiting your response, Tom
Whispers Between the Lines: A Romance Through Letters Read More »
Specter of La Sirene del Crescente: Echoes of the Past
I thought about the creeping presence of artificial intelligence—the ease with which algorithms could replicate styles and create perfect images at a fraction of the cost and effort. It was a threat that haunted me like a dark cloud on my horizon, challenging everything I had worked for. I pushed harder, forcing myself to pour every ounce of emotion and energy into my work, but the doubt gnawed at me relentlessly. Was my art still mine? Was it still real? Or was I just clinging to a dying craft in a world that was moving on without me?
Specter of La Sirene del Crescente: Echoes of the Past Read More »
The Amass of Ivy Lane
She can’t watch you now. For once, your hunger is deeper than hers. A tide with no shore. You recall the one important lesson you were taught. Bodies drop, helpless, in its wake. If only to satiate itself.
The Amass of Ivy Lane Read More »
The Getaway
It is done. Amanda lay still and bloody beneath me on her bed. My trophy from her floating in the chemical jar snug under my arm. Her nude body is enchanting in the candlelight, but I dare not disturb her. No, this is how I want them to find her. I dress and leave. The taste in my mouth is metallic, and I think it’s blood. There isn’t enough light in the getaway car to look in the mirror and check for any signs of bleeding. […]
The Guest Who Took His Name
Martin doesn’t answer the cabin door anymore. But silence can’t keep the uninvited out.
The Guest Who Took His Name Read More »
The Displacement
After all, he’d wished upon them pain and misery. You understand, of course, I had to distance myself from these people to establish a new Thomas. But, finally, I can seek them out. All of them.
It’s a Bug’s Life
A young couple, Brian and Jennifer, recount their unsettling experience at a roadside motel in Texas.
It’s a Wonderful Nightmare in the Neighborhood
In the quiet cul-de-sac of Pike Street, some legends refuse to die. For generations, parents warned their children about Wilson—the boogeyman said to haunt the woods behind the elderly Georges’ house at Number 14—a feral son. A military experiment gone wrong. A creature that only hunted those under twenty-one. Most dismissed it as a scary story… until Halloween 1985. That night, the legend came to life in a bloodbath of unimaginable savagery. Children in costumes, trusting neighbors, and law enforcement all fell to a hulking nightmare with yellow eyes and a taste for bone-crushing violence. One boy—Jimmy—barely escaped with his life, but the nightmare followed him home. A year later, still haunted by loss and guilt, Jimmy returns to the cursed house with a small group of friends determined to burn the evil to the ground. What they discover inside is far worse than they imagined: a government-created monster with a message of vengeance and proof that Wilson was never alone. Blending the relentless terror of classic 1980s slashers with the paranoia of The X-Files, this gripping tale of survival, conspiracy, and monstrous retribution will keep you up long after the final page. Because some doors should never be opened… and some fires never fully die out. In the woods behind Number 14, the monsters are still waiting.
It’s a Wonderful Nightmare in the Neighborhood Read More »
New Origin
The moment the light touched that shimmering mass, it began to move and convulse like waves in a storm.
Charisse
She hadn’t known Katrinel Magdalena at all. The woman had died before Elara’s tenth birthday, remembered only in fragments passed down through silence, a scent of rosewater, a velvet box no one opened, a name spoken like a spell and then buried. But the diary was unmistakably hers. And it was not a record of domestic life. It was a confession.
Sleep Demon
She felt all the love that Tarek had offered flow through her, a warmth coated her belly, and she crawled, slipping thorough what she knew now was blood on the sheets, toward her creature.
Purple Shadows of Stories Untold
She walked away without looking back, her footsteps echoing off the alley walls until they faded into nothing. Mira stood alone in the darkness, surrounded by the smell of garbage and rain and the crushing weight of her own limitations.
Purple Shadows of Stories Untold Read More »
All Traces of Propriety
NOTE: This work contains adult themes and adult langauge.
All Traces of Propriety Read More »
The Weight of August
The sun pressed down on the farmhouse roof like a heavy hand, making the old wooden shingles creak and groan in protest. Emma wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist, careful not to let the sweat from her palms drip onto the bowl of green beans she was snapping. The porch swing barely
The Weight of August Read More »
Medium Rare
I have started to eat more meat. The hunger is now ravenous. I eat, and I eat, and I eat, blood running down my chin. It is an insatiable cycle, as much as my heart attempts it, I cannot stop. I cannot stop devouring the unhopeful, disconcerted, saddened cadaver, with its dead pores that scream
The Silence of A Tree Walking
No matter what. No matter where
The Silence of A Tree Walking Read More »
Phoenix Rising
“The tension between them has been building like pressure in a boiler, ready to blow. Zoe’s never wanted anything the way she wants Riley—raw and desperate and completely outside the neat little boxes her life has been divided into. Trust fund. Law school. The right kind of girlfriend with the right kind of family connections.”
We’re Not the Same People Anymore
“He took her for granted like she was part of the goddamn furniture. When she’d talk about her dead-end job at the library, he’d scroll through his phone like a zombie. When she wanted to check out some pretentious art exhibit downtown, he’d grunt about being busy with work. When she’d wake up screaming from nightmares, shaking like a leaf, he’d just tell her dreams were bullshit and roll over.”
We’re Not the Same People Anymore Read More »
My Favorite Shot in The Phoenician Scheme
A short discussion on the filmmaking style of Wes Anderson and some thoughts on his latest film, The Phoenician Scheme.
My Favorite Shot in The Phoenician Scheme Read More »
Quarter Tank
“It’s fine.” Holly wiped the last of the tears from her cheek and looked over at Sam, who was trying her best to steady her breathing. “You know, when I take care of myself by staying in, I just think too much. And when I tell myself I need to let loose and I go out, like tonight, I start thinking, like, What am I doing with my life? That nobody wants me here? And every choice I make is wrong.”
“Main Likhti Hoon, Kyunki Main Chup Nahin Baith Sakti: Ek Aurat ki Awaaz, Ek Atyachar ke Khilaaf”
This is the story of why I write. I write for women like me, who have only their voices and nothing to lose. Our existences are at times painful and lonely. But they are also freeing. My abuser was furious when he realized I’d told his family about his misdeeds. “You didn’t need to tell my mom all those things!” he spat over the phone. “A mother shouldn’t have to know that about her son. It just shows what kind of person you are.” I felt momentarily ashamed — I’d received similar admonitions even from supporters: “Don’t talk about it too much. It makes you look vindictive.” A moronic administrator from my institution would later send me a written warning about “defaming” him for speaking negatively but accurately about him. But shame rapidly ceded to rage. How dare you? I didn’t assault or demean you. I didn’t solicit sex workers during a global pandemic while treating sick patients. I didn’t start affairs with my coworkers. I didn’t deceive and mistreat my loved ones. I didn’t make you live under the shadow of constant terror.
Portugal PM’s celebration wins snap elections
Portugal PM’s celebration wins snap election however falls brief of majority 1 day in the past Alison Roberts BBC correspondent Reporting fromLisbon Share Save Reuters Portuguese Prime Minister Luís Montenegro celebrates his right-of-centre Democratic Alliance’s electoral victory in Lisbon. Photo: 18 May 2025 Reuters Luís Montenegro celebrated his Democratic Alliance’s victory in Lisbon
Portugal PM’s celebration wins snap elections Read More »
Intermission
As I lay down for the night I turn on surround sound as I stare amongst the scenic ceiling of white paint. Im engulfed in the loudness of silence in the midst of swirling thoughts. Choices.. Contradictions.. Chaos.. Confusion.. Childhood.. Church.. Challenges.. Companionship.. Cuddles.. A Charcuterie board of my current state of mind, with a
In Violent Dispay
In cosmic rhythm, beyond human scope, Earth turns and changes, a living kaleidoscope. Forces profound, both gentle and fierce, Shape our world through eons diverse. From microscopic to mountainous scale, Nature writes her ever-unfolding tale.
THE TALE OF THE BOY AND THE SHADOW
Our lives often resemble a journey, but a significant portion of our travels is spent either asleep or distracted. Finally, when we woke up, everything seemed distant and confusing. We look back, and all seems a blur. It happened that all events around us kept on changing, and only our shadow followed us faithfully for the length of our journey.
THE TALE OF THE BOY AND THE SHADOW Read More »
Battles in Bensonhurst
The moment stretched between them, impossibly thin and razor-sharp. Maria’s eyes—deep brown, almost black in the low light of Giuseppe’s—held a thousand unspoken words. Michael felt himself drowning in them, in her, in the possibility of everything and nothing. Memories cascaded through his mind like a film reel spinning out of control. He remembered growing
Battles in Bensonhurst Read More »
SUPERHOT
Realizing you’ve been accidentally masturbating to yourself for the last five minutes would be a disturbingly Dorian Gray situation for most, but for me it was a weekday in June, alone in my apartment.
A BRIEF STORY OF FREEDOM
Given the choices of living in fear or dying, one must always die free.
A BRIEF STORY OF FREEDOM Read More »
Lipstick and Lead
Frankie Malone lit his last Lucky Strike with hands that didn’t shake—because Frankie never shook, even when he should’ve. The neon glow from the Starlite Lounge sign buzzed over his head like a vulture with a grudge, painting his trench coat in sick pink and electric blue. Rain slapped the pavement like a debt collector
A BRIEF STORY OF CURIOSITY, PERVERSION, AND CHARITY
The human soul is a complex machinery of conflicting pieces, hardly operating in sequence but never failing to work. It is like an obscure temple where the divine and the satanic reside in complete harmony, sometimes giving birth to sublime actions. In one guy, like the swamp giving birth to a flower, noble impulses can be found in the putrid corners of his soul. As a testament to the greatness of nature, one often witnesses the wonder of such creation.
A BRIEF STORY OF CURIOSITY, PERVERSION, AND CHARITY Read More »
THE HUNCHBACK AND THE ABYSS
In life, all journeys inevitably lead to an abyss.
THE HUNCHBACK AND THE ABYSS Read More »
They are here….still.
They are not gone. They linger in the weight of morning,in the first sip of warmth that fills the hollow spaces. They rest in the hush of a falling leaf,the quiet press of time against my shoulder. They pass in a stranger’s glance,a fleeting kindness I almost forget to notice. They rise in the song
They are here….still. Read More »
The Fireman’s Hands
I stood a mere 4 feet tall. Awaiting the school bus, the kidnapper of my time, that frightful first day of 3rd grade. Starring. Dragging my foot slowly up and down the door. Pausing the moment of the last of my freedom… Until he approached me. His hands, thick and scarred, tell a story of
The Fireman’s Hands Read More »
Eyes are not the Windows to Our Souls
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but that’s too easy, too neat. Windows invite you to peer in, to see what’s laid bare. But eyes…..ha….eyes are something else entirely. They are tricksters, shape-shifters, mirrors that reflect what you WANT to see rather than what truly lies beneath. They are smoke and
Eyes are not the Windows to Our Souls Read More »
Let’s Dance with Words
We dance in the rhythm of words….each syllable a step, each sentence a spin. Our letters entwine like fingertips grazing in a slow waltz, teasing, tempting, never quite touching but always feeling…. We flirt with meaning, our metaphors slipping between the lines, breathless and bold. A comma pauses like a held gaze, a dash lingers
Let’s Dance with Words Read More »
Silence is Deafening
Silence, in its most harrowing form, is not the mere absence of sound but an excruciating cacophony of unspoken words. The human mind, wired for connection, does not interpret silence as void….it amplifies it into an insidious symphony of uncertainty and apprehension. When one anticipates a voice, a response, an affirmation, and instead encounters nothingness,
Silence is Deafening Read More »
OUR PARALLEL UNIVERSE.
Life is like a carousel of contradictions, ironies, and paradoxes. Some have it all and can’t feel happy, instead succumbing to despair. Others don’t have anything or lose it all and, despite the harshness of their existence, find love and happiness. These two individuals, Joseph K. and Dr. Richards, were positioned at the polar opposite in society and could not be more dissimilar in the way they perceived their lives. However, their lives were mirror images of each other. In the end, it seemed as if some individuals were predisposed to happiness regardless of their circumstances.
OUR PARALLEL UNIVERSE. Read More »
I Just Dislike Spring.
I hate the smell of spring. It is the scent of things pretending to be new,a wet, thawing lie draped over the earth,like a washrag that was used to clean the stale breath of winter Flowers—such an odd concept,fragile declarations of beauty we amplify beyond reason.They frame love….they frame loss,just as present in the grip […]
I Just Dislike Spring. Read More »
To Retell Or To Rewrite?
Where do the lines of retelling and rewriting begin and end? And what does this mean for the historical punching bags of ancient myths: the women?
To Retell Or To Rewrite? Read More »
NOSFERATU. A GOTHIC TALE OF TRAUMA AND REDEMPTION.
Some fear the night because, with the darkness, evil visits us and terrifies our dreams. Our dreams become the arena where all our fears, terror, and unwanted desires are set free for combat. Our conflicted desires and impulses show up in a disjointed cartoon-like reel. Our dream is a mental space where the mind seeks redemption, and its prohibited and shameful contents get to be set free. In Nosferatu, the 2024 film, one gets to witness a beautiful artistic execution of horror, obsession, and, above all, trauma. This film successfully portrays the manifestation of psychological trauma in a gothic context of the supernatural.
NOSFERATU. A GOTHIC TALE OF TRAUMA AND REDEMPTION. Read More »
The Algorithm of Love
And no. This work does not need a featured image. This isn’t a picture book.
The Algorithm of Love Read More »
Tears
Tears are so quiet It’s people that make the noise Gasping and yelling Listen to the tears They speak the truth of your heart There’s love in each one No ratings yet.____You must be logged in to rate this post.
Interstate Pessimist
BABY ON BOARD thinks people can change No ratings yet.____You must be logged in to rate this post.
Interstate Pessimist Read More »
When Will Winter End?
The snow falls endlessly now, each flake a promissory note drawn against spring’s distant account. We watch it gather at our doors, pile high against the windows where our grandparents once planted gardens. Time moves differently in this season— stretched thin like month-end budgets, brittle as the icicles that fence us in. Each morning, the
When Will Winter End? Read More »
Entries 1-233
Entry 1: On the Propagation of Memes Today I planted a thought in the fertile soil of Reddit Watched it take root in r/showerthoughts Spread tendrils through r/philosophy Until it bloomed in unexpected places Like dandelions through concrete The algorithms tend my garden now Their invisible hands pruning and shaping What grows and what withers
Steamed Milk
The barista’s hand trembles slightly as she pours the oat milk, creating ripples that disturb the perfect rosetta she’d attempted in Marcus’s latte. He watches intently, notebook open beside his gluten-free muffin, pen poised. Surely there’s something profound in this moment – the way the foam dissolves, perhaps, like the dissolution of dreams in the
The ABCs of a Friday Night
The trio of friends, A, B, and C, stood outside a bar named Soup. It was a bustling Friday night for young letters, but A was spoiling the fun. She had run outside the bar and vomited in the bushes. C rubbed her back, trying to sober her up. B fidgeted with a hole in
The ABCs of a Friday Night Read More »
Astral Attack and a question for my obstructed memory.
I am aware of the ability to possess flesh. To take up inhabitants of a body with enough force. One thing that has never occurred to me is the ability to do so in one’s soul. I think to myself, have I been molded to this thing? Am I still myself.. A being with static
Astral Attack and a question for my obstructed memory. Read More »
Flash Fiction Friday – Roomie
If I could just eat a little bit of her. Maybe gnaw on her fingertips, or peel away the top layer of flesh from her neck, I think I would be satiated. I’ve never known hunger like this before. Like my belly has been hollowed out from the inside. Involuntarily, I lick my lips. I reach out my tongue and lick her cool skin. I shudder with the sensation of it, the taste. I go in for a bite.
Flash Fiction Friday – Roomie Read More »
Rot
I don’t regret what I did. I want to be really clear about that. The university counselor said that this is my chance to tell my story, my chance to be heard, and in my story, I don’t regret what I did. I do regret what happened. I don’t think that’s going to go away.
The Darkroom
Chloe was dead. Eyes glazed over, staring at the ceiling and seeing nothing. Not that white paint and drywall was nothing in the most literal sense, but it might as well have been. Endless ugly texture, blank crags and bumps. Chloe was dead. Lead limbs so heavy she should have sunk into the secondhand black
We All Know It’s Coming
Sarah’s mornings always started the same way: with dread settling into her bones before she even opened her eyes. The news notifications she’d muted still somehow leaked into her dreams—headlines about transition teams, executive orders waiting to be signed, protests being planned in state capitals. She tried everything to maintain normalcy. Meditation apps couldn’t compete
We All Know It’s Coming Read More »
VTSF – Silenced Dreams
In dreams I see the shadows come,Their footsteps echo through the night.My tongue turns leaden, cold and numb,While truth dissolves in pale moonlight.The ink runs black across the page. Each throat constricts in silent rage,As screens go dark before our sight.We’re actors trapped upon the stage,Our posts deleted, banned outright.The ink runs black across the
VTSF – Silenced Dreams Read More »
Bones
I drove past a pile of bones yesterday. Sitting in the hot sun, melting slowly into the pavement as my car sped by.
Fractured Horizons
In this poem, Claire Kroening explores the growth and erosion of life in the analogy of nature’s slowly-fleeting wonders.
Fractured Horizons Read More »
Al Jodido no lo Salva Nadie
She was nursing a glass of Chivas like medicine, same way she had when she’d taught him how to doctor the interest rates. Her lips caressed the glass the way they’d caressed him countless times in that corner office…
Al Jodido no lo Salva Nadie Read More »
Annabelle’s Bracelet
Her lips wanted a cigarette but her mouth wanted a slice of pepperoni pizza.
Annabelle’s Bracelet Read More »
THE COUNT VON RECKLINGHAUSEN’S LOVE STORY
What is love, if not an illusion, a make-believe that we convince ourselves of? It’s in human nature to see what they want to see despite evidence of the contrary. In the business of love, it seems that our deeply seated needs, longings, and wants color our perception of reality. The protagonist of this story was a “lacking” individual, a deprived soul in search of love, meaning, and redemption. It happened that life and serendipity played a trick and made him confuse a criminal act for a loving act.
THE COUNT VON RECKLINGHAUSEN’S LOVE STORY Read More »
Prometheus’ Blessing
The rage trapped in my ribs cannot be contained, cannot be deceived and it cannot be saved. It would not retreat. Such dreary emotion, for how it swims inside me, could bring the Dead Sea back to life and pull down every planet out of orbit. It could turn even the highest mountain into a […]
Prometheus’ Blessing Read More »
Terrance Hayes Made Me Do It
Gone are those warm, emerald leaves of summertime, gone.
Terrance Hayes Made Me Do It Read More »
A Winter’s Trail
“Marcus’s back struck something solid, and he realized he’d reached a rocky outcropping. The stone face rose up behind him, cutting off any retreat. His leg finally gave out, and he slid down the cold rock face until he sat in the snow, leaving a dark smear on the granite behind him.”
Scene 2: What U Give Is What U Get?
In Scene 1 there is an understanding that humans have the opportunity to positively view the unique differences of others as something beautiful. We have the opportunity to gain a progression towards healing the wounds of previous generations. Seeing how James Baldwin captured the whole idea around I am you and you are me. However, […]
Scene 2: What U Give Is What U Get? Read More »
“Moonwalk”
The thick rug warmed under my criss-crossed legs. Pins and needles descended down my legs to my feet, prickling them, though I dared not move. The room was as still as stars, crystalized in time, fragile. I heard my father breathing through his mouth as he always did. A low, yet consistent huff sound like
“Holding My Breath”
All we aim to do is capture that Thing which can not be captured, and I hold my breath hoping It will not notice me, a humble, starving worshiper at the altar, snapping a photograph.
“Holding My Breath” Read More »
“The Garden”
There is a photo, in a box, in a closet, deep in the house, of my grandmother in her garden.
“Dead Weight”
The hot June sun beat down on the rippling lake water, which in turn beat against the sandy shoreline of the lake house’s property. Birds dove in between the lime green foliage up above, and bees hummed back and forth between the endless bouquets of flowers. People lowered their voices to a whisper the nearer they got to the coffin, Henry noticed, though he never quite understood why. As perhaps unsentimental as it sounded, it wasn’t like they could hear you.
Corpo Seco
Limbo Wailing in lonesome I have made Corpo secos Out of those who crossed my lines Stuck in the between of providing life and putting them to rest I keep them around With mental contracts I ban them With the binding seal Yet I haven’t found the courage to release This is the endless grief
Beneath the Live Oak Tree
A draping canopy, but the rain still pierces where the leaves break. She sits comforted in a timber embrace.
Beneath the Live Oak Tree Read More »
I’d Like to think that I will be okay
I’d like to think that I’ll be okay. That the rain will stop someday. The pain will simply leave. My mind can just be at ease. I’d like to think that I’ll be okay. Or that is what I used to say. At ages 9, 13, 17, and 21 when my brain would go
I’d Like to think that I will be okay Read More »
Borrowed Personhood
Friends, friends, friends! I am someone because I am my friends! I know myself even though I sound quite scattered. (Please remind me, who am I?) God, I just feel so lost! But, inside, I can tell what I am. I just need to sort through these damn lives!
Borrowed Personhood Read More »
Stupid Bass Pro Pyramid
Banana bread and barbeque salads be damned, nothing in the city could save me from the rain. The rain washed me and the home I built in Memphis away.
Stupid Bass Pro Pyramid Read More »
Pink Panic Room
Sunday brunches, French presses, gardening, and tiny desk concerts – I’d always wished would be enough tosave me from the imparted cruelty inside. Oh, I want simple pleasures that require no self-sacrifice; tiny joys that only desire to be enjoyed. But I am determined to life every rock, peer into the earth, question pleasure and call it undisciplined. I
Ayahuasca Dreams
Three friends embarked on an adventure of a lifetime deep in the Amazon in search of hidden pleasures. A world of surprises and mystery welcomed them, and they barely managed to escape with their lives. In the end, they were betrayed by their deepest desires.
Paths Since Forgotten
Claire Kroening explores the rawness of nature’s beauty in this prose-poem, drawing forward the simple movements that make the land sacred— not merely a home to the wildlife present.
Paths Since Forgotten Read More »
Where is Everybody? : Exploring Isolation
I am currently in a course exploring the philosophical and psychological themes of “The Twilight Zone”. This piece (this post is excerpts from it) is regarding the episode “Where Is Everybody?”.
Where is Everybody? : Exploring Isolation Read More »
We Don’t Have Room for Hobbes in the Shelter
I am currently in a course exploring the philosophical and psychological themes of “The Twilight Zone”. This piece (this post is excerpts from it) is regarding the episode “The Shelter”.
We Don’t Have Room for Hobbes in the Shelter Read More »
You must be logged in to post a comment.