Palms, pens, fingers, and pencils cross the Blank Paper Desert

Leaving lonely abandoned glyphs and graphemes in their wake

Each text waits to be read, ignored, obscured, unremembered

Pages rot in arcane existence, quietly opaque

Why is this train-station-of-thought here, where no trains-of-thought ever arrive?

When shall deserted documents bask in the ( Read more... )

Black turtleneck sweatshirt that my mother gave me for Christmas when I was 13 years old:

I was wearing it when I first shaved at the age of 14.

I was wearing it on my first date (and during my first kiss) at the age of 15.

I was wearing it when I failed my first driving test at the age of 16.

I was wearing it when I found my first gray hair at the age ( Read more... )

 When I was six years old, my Uncle Andy taught me how to fish (It was the last thing Uncle Andy and I ever did together; he died of a heart attack a few years later). That was the only time I ever went fishing, and I don’t really remember any of the technique or anything. But I do remember what we caught. That is, I remember what it looked like: ( Read more... )

Inside a public bathroom cubicle, just above the empty toilet-paper-dispenser, the grafitti reads as follows ( Read more... )

Lift the world’s weight, drag it away, and thrust it over the edge ( Read more... )

(PREAMBLE: Special thanks to http://360.yahoo.com/dews24u who has just brought http://blogactionday.org/ to my attention)

Some unthinkable future shall come without affordable air to breathe

We are building a future on sand with individual-blame and myth

Urban-spirals are made of the growing cracks in pavement and skulls and glass

We are letting it ( Read more... )

Help wanted, dead or alive; construction ahead ( Read more... )

After I took out the garbage, washed the dishes, and puked ( Read more... )