sketch:Veteran"Come here son" he'll say an old man with a kidney addiction "I've a story" when anything else would be a fallacy. He's good at telling stories He's practised and never gets a new one like opening the same can, again, and again. War stories fought on the Barstool Front, where the tab ran into No Man's Land and glass was easy to find in your skull (he shows me a scar to prove it). Once a bar fighter, always bleeding they used to say around that table Doric schooners supporting their combined gut.sketch:Veteran
sketch:Deconstructionits just a matter of chemistry holding the solder of me together and that stop me from decompiling before you, entirely, so there's just a little room to connect the dots between the screws yet to fall out and if you saw it laid before you like the last ten yearssketch:Deconstruction
scratched into a desk;
would you know who it is beneath the chips and splinters? the writer's hand gives it away and you recognise shapes that are familiar; loops and c
The Cost of HeavenThe Cost of HeavenThe Cost of Heaven
Father insists on saying Grace. Just like every other night. I shift uncomfortably – I can’t help it. Will they notice? No. Their eyes are closed, their minds elsewhere. Transient, benevolent statues. We gather nightly around the dinner table to eat and collectively cast our minds out, like a net, at God. Mine rarely makes it that far, and the distance only grows with each passing day. I know as well as He does that it never used to be this way. Am I turning my back on Him or is He turning his back on me? I remember no
Day ThreeDay ThreeDay Three
The aged storehand bumbles through the uninviting doorframe and into the musty, unlit apartment. Flicking the lights, he is met with the familiar shock of claustrophobic crampedness, and belonging. Furnished with only practical impersonalities, the room murmurs faintly – through the cracks in the plain, yellowed white walls – of loneliness, that which inspires no attempt at showcasing individuality. For the storehand, there is no audience to enrapture with marvellous miscellaneous space-wasters. Crossing the rooms at a beaten pace, the storehand reaches his bedside table. With fumbling finger
How does Neglect feel journal?
Distracted
--
"If you don't know where you're going, any road will take you there", the Cheshire Cat, Alice In Wonderland
--
Most people who commit suicide are probably optimists. Who better to see the up side to death?
--
"If you don't know where you're going, any road will take you there", the Cheshire Cat, Alice In Wonderland
--
Most people who commit suicide are probably optimists. Who better to see the up side to death?
--
"If you don't know where you're going, any road will take you there", the Cheshire Cat, Alice In Wonderland
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My page~ =artofalinea
My portfolio~ [link]
Proud member of~ *Gen13-Club
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