echoes from the past
dance inside this
but the flesh fails
the energy to
bring them to life
they waste away
“Ugh. Guard duty is such a drag.” Jessie hocked up some spit and aimed it at the aluminum can someone had tossed over the ramparts since she was last on duty. The result was an impressive twunk of wet on metal. Max was impressed, though he knew she’d learned from one of the best. He father was legendary for his llama-like skill at hitting a target with his spit.
The things you perfected in confinement…
“I don’t mind. I just wish we could go out and, y’know…“
Jessie snorted. She knew. Confinement had put a definitely damper on their budding romance. They could find ways — teenagers always did — but the thrill of the possibility of getting caught only went so far before it became more a drag than a thrill. Besides, Jessie was getting bored with it all.Continue reading “Incident on the pale.”
dystopia now -- america is burning thanks to those hollow men killing with the darkest of hearts
how prideful we must seem in our conceit (should it be noted at all) within the turbulent wake of the universe's vast indifference
an old song echos in my head: i don't wanna work i just wanna bang on me drum all day and i wish someone would pay me to bang on drums.
David didn’t need to look up to know his campsite was being invaded by five teens; three girls and two guys by the din they made coming up from the shore. Maybe there was quiet one in the bunch, but he doubted it. So, maybe six of an unknown gender.
The cacophony ended abruptly when they came upon the place he’d decided was where he’d stay until he felt like moving on to his brother’s hunting cabin. He hoped that’d be far enough away from the problems in the cities, but he wasn’t sure.
After so much noise, the silence those kids left hurt his ears, so he broken the silence rather than let it build up. “Howdy,” he said, still not looking up. He might as well be friendly, though he didn’t much want to be, at least for starters.Continue reading “Locusts.”
some days i feel as if i could become unmoored if only i had the strength to cut the gossamer threads holding me fast like a bug caught in amber
This was probably the most blissful thing I’ve seen on the internet this week and I’m driven to share on the off-chance it will trigger a satori-like experience for others.
gallons of ink have been spilled etching razor blade words into arms wrapped in the rags of our stains little changed in the years between youth and age still gagged still chained