TCC # 9
SOMETIMES ALL YOU need to do is close your eyes to see. Now, if I could just keep them closed a little longer. Soon…
SOMETIMES ALL YOU need to do is close your eyes to see. Now, if I could just keep them closed a little longer. Soon…
I LOVE the rain, but sometimes i miss the su… No. I love the rain. (coming back)
5-7-5 (you can find the full poem here) was written with a girl in mind. Last night, something happened. I merged Christina’s audio reading of the poem with a photo of a boy and some background music. The result was something unintentional yet wonderfully and indescribably different. I will never see 5-7-5 the same way again.…
YOUR COFFEE MUG still sits where you left it, half-empty, atop your favorite porcelain, brim smudged with a curious combination of dried froth and pink lipstick. It’s my little testimony, you know, to a life well led and a union I thought was blessed. I never had the heart to move it even as it perches precariously on…
I HAD THE night of my life earlier dancing with blogger friends Ese, Alastair, Yashie, Amber, Daile and Christina, along with a few others. I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart for having the guts (and the balls, Alastair) to go out of your way just to humor me during…
IT IS official. I have forgotten how to write. It didn’t take more than a sentence to know that I won’t be getting anywhere. My thoughts could no longer command these brittle fingers to pry themselves open. Perhaps they have gotten so accustomed to wielding a pen that jabbing at a Chiclet keyboard seems so…
My professional and personal lives rarely intersect.
“It is even quieter at dawn. I sit out back and I write stuff, like stories. That’s easy. I don’t know, it’s like at that time of the day, because everyone’s still asleep, all the best thoughts haven’t been taken yet.” – House at the End of the Street
I SEE HER for what she is — uneven, a runaway three-line poetry. Lesser minds have plunged her depths only to break the surface with questioning faces. All these years they never understood for they saw her differently, an odd number in the realm of pairs and parallelisms. She was often measured, but in their eyes…
SOME PEOPLE can’t write and paint their flats at the same time. I’m one of them. (but soon…) artwork credit: “We Who See,’ mixed media, by Maranda Pleasant.