Blog On the Front The street was empty, except for me and him on opposites sides. Despite his six-plus height and broad shoulders, his clothing hung on him loosely like a child growing into hand-me-downs. He wore a green paisley shirt, faded blue jeans and scuffed black boots. Tattoos peeked out
Survivor Stuff No Exit In the dark, the bully becomes something else. Primeval. Savage. Thirsty for something unquenchable. The snapping turtle doesn’t know why he snaps.
Blog Dance Party Juno came to visit this evening. Pam was out so it was just me and Bug. Juno likes to hold birthday parties for her dolls, Maya, and Creepy Baby. Tonight was Maya's birthday, and we had a tea party. Her friends, Pig, Cat, Dolphin, Manatee Mom, and Creepy
On the Beach The aura was real, as far as I could tell. It was as if I was seeing the electricity that animates the world. As if my eyes could see the electromagnetic radiation waves that are always pulsing over us unseen.
Survivor Stuff Kitaro, The Dead, and Queequeg Walk Into a Bar Peak moments. Lucid moments. Insight. Understanding. Clarity. Enlightened moments. What fun.
Blog Something's Happening There may be nothing new under the sun, but there are always new ways to let it shine.
Blog If You Know, You Know If you have been living with CPTSD, you will probably get this. If not, it is simply designed to make you go, "huh?"
Survivor Stuff The Boy Who Stayed: A Lifetime of Healing The idea that all of us adults have an inner child is silly. Which is the point.
Survivor Stuff It's All One Story I am not a disciplined writer. I don't even like to call myself a writer. I don't get writer's block. I get writer's fright. I've said this before. Why does writing frighten me? Because when writing, I can't lie. I can't hide.
Survivor Stuff i bargained for salvation i used to buy opium from a guy who wore renfaire clothing and always made me listen to him sing 'shelter from the storm' i just cut ties with a grifter poet who'd been grooming me for a few months, i don't know what
Survivor Stuff Open the Cage Door I'm on a short bridge, standing on a milk crate for a better view. A tribe of gorillas inhabits the creek-side below. The creek is known as Blood River, but nobody knows why. There is a beat up old suitcase somewhere near... well, somewhere, anyway. There is
Survivor Stuff the garden snake I. the two boys the garden snake the sun dried wood the long stretch the measure II. I remember on my back my skin warmth above and below fading into suchness the sun III. the one boy the opened jack knife the silver blade (the cutting the blood) the dying
Survivor Stuff The Life of Jesus as a Religious Paranoic glorious baklava, ex libras, hep hey, ad infinitum
Blog 251012 Tarot The purpose of making art is making art. It will never be enough. It is all there is.
Blog This is Not About a Shirt I was shopping for shoes when I saw the shirt. It was by itself on a torso mannequin and it whispered to me as I passed it. “I am for you!”
