The sleeping world, and the end of the thoughts. What are we? What am I? These words are paintings of thoughts, of just that, of just there, of voices inside of our heads. Two days, gone. Today, gone. Still, gone. Writing brings back the insanity that I wish I still suffered from. In the basement with black and white… Continue reading What are we?
Tag: poetry
He’s dead. (I think)
Who's there? Nobody. Just my thoughts. WAKE UP. Ok, I'm up. Stretch, some toast and oats and milk, and standing, writing, and WAKE UP. I'm up. What time is it? It's right now. What's the score? Huh? How do you feel? My back hurts from so many days sitting down. Alive? Yes, I guess. … Continue reading He’s dead. (I think)
Just Part of my Adventure: Desperation
Desperation has been said to be the fuel for the poet. Words, and in the end, everything that I say will have been said before. Fiction, I need to get back to my fiction, but the world these days doesn't allow me time to write and just love, I miss love. Desperation, and I try to… Continue reading Just Part of my Adventure: Desperation
Starting to form some kind of journalistic itinerary
Starting to form some kind of journalistic itinerary.
Written thoughts by dead writers, Albert Camus
I've never met my literary mentor. He died many years before I stumbled upon his book, The Stranger (or I believe The Outsider is a better translation). I read this book (and then everything he ever printed) in my senior criminology course. And it's not a stretch to say that if I wasn't assigned that book, well then I probably (for better… Continue reading Written thoughts by dead writers, Albert Camus
Adventures In American Writing 