old times

soon enough no one will remember that sticky month everything tasted like Christmas Paul’s puddle of blood congealed on rough concrete dropped silverware a clatter of church bells the squall flooding the ash black river James Dean crucified on the ceiling won’t rise again marker tattoos seeping into smooth scars fading slowly Advertisements

Creating Craziness

I listen to a podcast called Making It with Riki Lindhome.  I have absolutely no interest in ever becoming involved in the entertainment industry.  (Truly.  I feel like lots of people say that but secretly harbor dreams of becoming wildly famous.  To me, the thought of navigating that world is so repulsive it makes me […]

Gratitude Tuesday

Lately, this blog has been a thing that I open and proceed to stare at guiltily…daily.  I struggle to justify my words.  Like John Green’s Gus, “my thoughts are stars I can’t fathom into constellations.”  (If you haven’t read The Fault in Our Stars, you probably should.) This evening, like they do every year, my […]