How the grim reaper travels...
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Monday, February 27, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Sorry I haven't posted in a while. I've been very busy over break. Some actual art coming soon. All I can say is that it involves the grim reaper and balloons. Enjoy, follow and comment.
Does Silence echo?
Can you hear it? To find out
I yell silently.
In the quiet, see
the big bright moon reflecting
our worst fears and hopes.
Crying without tears.
I heard your voice but did not
turn or acknowledge.
In the middle of
the scent, twisting tendrils of
Rivers of tastes flood
the silence. The rapids run
wild never stopping.
Shredders rip and tear.
Through the silence like bell tolls.
The still is disturbed.
You might be able
to hear, taste, or see silence.
But can you hear it?
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
I am a very classy man. I’ve been told this many times and have grown to believe it myself. I think it’s the bowler hat. It really makes or breaks you. I walked down the street strutting my custom strut that I had perfected after hours of practice. It was about nine o’clock and I was strolling leisurely toward my friend Sir Charles Whaler’s London penthouse. My 5,000 dollar suit flapped behind me in the wind. The sun shone high above the boring grey buildings bathing the sprawling city in light. As I reached the crest of the hill I saw the house, or more honestly the top of it. Atop the tall penthouse was a sprawling rooftop garden that was home to many rare and exotic planets. Surrounding the garden was a wide dome of clear glass. It been erected to protect the vegetation from pollution that rose from the many smoke stacks that scattered London.
As I walked down the hill and saw the entire house I was disgusted. It was obvious that my mutual friend Sir Charles was filthy rich. I was dirty rich, but he was filthy rich. In short that is like the difference between millions and billions. A sign above the door said proudly in gold letters The Estate of Sir Charles Whaler. I knocked on the door and listened to the echo with my ear to the door. To confirm my discovery I sniffed the door and was surprised. Agarwood, one of the rarest woods in the world. The door I estimated weighed about twenty pounds. The wood cost one million dollars per ounce. In twenty pounds there are 320 ounces. My mouth dropped. Sir Charles had spent 320 million dollars on his front door. I couldn't imagine what the inside would look like.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
I found a perfect cord today.
The perfect mixture of black and white keys.
The air shattered and time caught its breath.
Conducted by an angel.
My fingers skittered along the keys again and again.
The Perfect Chord.
The Golden Chord.
Mine at last.
It held love and sadness, anger and fear.
Longing and lust. Envy and happiness.
The great game of hide and seek was finally over and the world seemed to shiver.
But gone again the notes flew away.
The golden chord like the golden snitch.
Elusive as always.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
The secret burned and pulsed inside of her like an uncontrollable fire. Her mind flailed and writhed trying to escape the grasp of the evil, villainous truth. She longed to shout it out to let it escape, reaching all who could hear. But no, she couldn’t, she was logical. She would stay calm.
Annie took a deep breath her chest moving up and down with each breath she took. She gritted her teeth her body shaking slightly.
The secret had started with the word. California. At the moment Annie had heard the word she felt only one thing. Fear. The cold monster that had driven its dark tendrils into parts of her heart and soul she didn’t even know existed. The silent tears flowing that had drowned her in mournful lamentation.
She had wanted to run, to flee everything about the secret. She wanted to find a place to be alone and free.
And still the secret bubbled at the tip of her tongue and threatened to boil over into the world. Finally she couldn’t bear it any longer and whispered the word over and over. California, California, California.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Poem about various emotions.
Sadness drips like soggy mist.
Like trumpets playing Taps.
Rolling notes of night and goodbye.
And rain blurs our world.
Anger is like a flaring fire.
Like splattered pomegranates on the tiles.
Battering swords of desperation.
And fire burns our world.
Happiness cuddles and comforts.
Like inspirational hymns and spirituals.
Bright like a summer sun.
And light brightens our world.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Jason sat on the tree branch his arms dangling by his sides. He looked down at the branch that he was sitting on and thought, the tree he was sitting in would eventually be cut down and then maybe it would be crafted into a chair and maybe he would even sit in that chair as he was sitting in the tree now.
A red leaf fell from the branches cutting through the chilly fall air. He sat and sat until the edges of the world softened and everything merged together into one thing, but what that thing was he did not know.
He leaned forward so he could get a better look at the thing and as he did he fell out of the tree and plunged toward the frozen ground.
He fell through the ground but at the same time it felt to him as if he was rising, or was he falling? He could not tell.
Around him was a cyclone of red, yellow, and russet leaves. All spinning around him like a giant whirling cloak.
But now he was moving and this time he knew he was falling. He fell and fell and he saw many strange things but none were important and he didn’t remember any of them.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Bernard walked down the dark street kicking loose pieces of asphalt and watching them skitter down the street. As he walked he saw the lights in the various stores and restaurants that lined the street dim and then go out completely. Dangling by his side was a large black instrument case that carried his Linton oboe. Every so often the case would bump against his beefy thigh. Whenever this happened his eyes would swivel and come to stop and channel their dislike to the over-sized case.
After Bernard had walked a couple more blocks down the street he reached his apartment building. He pushed open the heavy door and walked up the stairs that led to his cramped fifth story apartment. He reached the top of the stairs panting and reached with clumsy fingers into his pocket for his keys. His hand emerged with the key that glinted faintly in the dark. He inserted the rusted key into the keyhole and after a faint struggle pushed open the door and staggered inside.
Bernard walked deeper into the narrow hallway and reached his arms out looking for the light switch. His fingers found it and turned the light on. A light that hung from a wire flickered and then turned on flooding the apartment with a dim glow. He walked in and proceeded to turn on another light in the small kitchen.
He un tucked his button down shirt and took off his Nikes. Bernard opened a cabinet above the sink and took out a large pot that he filled with water and then placed on to the electric stove. He jerked open his refrigerator and took out a half full carton of eggs. He opened the carton and carefully placed the eggs one by one into the pot of water. After he had placed all of the eggs into the water he turned on the stove and walked to his couch where he collapsed gratefully on to the soft cushions. He sighed with relief and closed his eyes.