You do not illustrate what you see, but a representation of what you see ( Read more... )

He is a bigger kid than he once was when the last time I saw him. He knocked off a few inches and the gap between him and me seems nonexistent. His upperlip is already laying the groundwork for peach fuzz. However one thing bothers me most of all. The cross he bears with him everywhere. He has a crucifix that swing and bounces off his chest ( Read more... )

Harriet once rested at the bottom of the sea. An older soul than she once was. She was one of a full and vibrant character. The water dispersed that character across the ocean after the salts and pressures split her flesh. Her bones now coral. Her brain a nice plankton. Her muscles rippled and split like a school of silverfish. Blood like an ink, ( Read more... )

Building on the fact that all of her friends were crayons, Harriet had constructed a paper's worth of wax ground into the grooves and filling the white space to its entirety. Sacrificing time for precision, Harriet flew into a frenzy when others became critical of her style. She desperately relinquished the title of humble artist and entered the ( Read more... )

Harriet was a bee buzzing backwards along the track. Being bright and bouncy, she sang a song full of monotonous vocals. Moving along the flora, she percolated particles filling the ears of an eager audience. A simple set of tasks, bring back the wax for her mother, survive, and serve. Drones collect the bounty and deposit it here or there. Build ( Read more... )

Harriet felt a depression so deep. A serious thought crossed her mind. She mistook it for a proposition. She mistook it for an optional alternate. It was not so clear cut as that. It was not so intelligent as a clear concept to be thought. Harriet wanted to be more careful. She wanted slow down. She wanted a life less vivid. A life less colorful. A ( Read more... )

I hope that when they discover my corpse they say, "that he had such a pretty face." My what a sentiment to hold about a man. Pretty face. Now a days they might call that man vain, but not I. I was a carved greco-roman god in the middle of a Rivera mural with all of the working men busy at work. My face stayed time at its wicked bay. Its knife ( Read more... )

A message I sent to Zlati Meyer of the Detroit Free Press:
I just wanted to say a few things, I hope you get this before it goes out. Don and me hung out and saw Good Night and Good Luck. He also appreciated the power of a good journalist as well as an unselfish person. We talked about life and health and how people have to eat healthy. We just ( Read more... )

My memory conjures up a dozen voices. I stir uneasily and try to focus on my goals. My attempt at becoming a functionary. I die not knowing a voice in the bunch. They all seem so far around me. Distance, time, and space. All voices too far, too old, and too small. My will must face facts with my youth. I don't want to be young. I want an ( Read more... )

Harriet felt weary. Those nights all alone on the dance floor. She falls all the time. She stumbles. She hears the call of strangers all around her. They all seem warm, yet distant. Even when they're grinding to that bad sound the parents said no to whenever the radio happened to be paid to play that over-produced, under-appreciated, unloved- ( Read more... )