1 comment | posted May 20
History had become shapeless and void, a repeating cycle of kings and wars, birth and death, inescapable from the dull and constant pain of monotony. Day was a steady burn of dry and unrelenting heat, although the sun didn't seem to shine quite as brightly as it had before. Night was cold and silent, devoid of a gentle wind or soothing rain.
2 comments | posted May 6
It's such an enormous irony that we will do whatever we can to be a part of someone else's story when ours is so spectacular, so perfect, so in need of some good plot movement.
2 comments | posted Nov 13
*Disclaimer: Despite suggestions from like-minded individuals on the title of this essay being misread as "Erotica," I've decided use it anyway, knowing full well the ramifications that will likely ensue. Good day.
I have a borderline unhealthy ...
post a comment | posted Sep 11
I was reading at a coffee shop a few nights ago when I began talking to an old man by the name of Gene. He was one of those old men whose soul was no older than Peter Pan. The wrinkles high on his cheeks surrounded eyes that shone the clear blue of...
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