Category: Writing

  • Cookies but not Advil

    This morning I stopped at the local 7-11 to get a cup of coffee before work. In the checkout line a man, dressed in work boots, reflective vest, and hard hat presented a box of Advil, two chocolate chip cookies individually wrapped in cellophane and a bottle of Mountain Dew to the cashier. He then […]

  • The purpose of the trip

    when i tripi listen to musicthat creates aa story or archetypefor my consciousnessto synchronize withto exist into live throughas if another lifealtogetherfull with gratitudemeaningpurposeand maybe evenanswers

  • decaying to dust too

    there’s comfortin the image of ourdigital bitsdecayingtodusttoo

  • Memories in Obsidian

    “Look up.” Two hands lay palms-down on a brown briefcase. Scars. From cleats and dirt, knives at the bottom of soapy kitchen sinks, mother’s maroon-painted fingernails. Memories. The only way of knowing one’s actually existed. If you don’t remember anything, you don’t know you’re there. Time. The flowing of time. The true nature of time is a spiral; not a line with a definite start and a definite stop.