What use were the pink, feathered wings attached to the headless mannequin … flight? The broken escalator possessed better direction. Yes, i’m in the mall again, wondering what cake i am if the main ingredients are hate and frustration overwhelmed by a dollop of sadness. I can’t be that smiling Toddler that’s holding Mommy’s hand. There is only now and a future that will become Now. There’s the Old Man battling to descend the stairs, one crutch at a time (or is that one victory at a time?). I certainly … Continue reading →
Sometimes this quiet is so loud it deafens my head, my heart, my logic; excusing all reason to be proud I drink a million beers INSTEAD, telling myself that breasts are a nation, a male lifestyle of thought living in naivete and a synonym for true, yet callously human, direction.