I love old photos. I love looking at all my loved ones as they were: younger, a bit unsure, hopeful... All the things I am. I look at them and I see a form of certainty. Here there were thousands of ways their lives could have played out. But it came to be that I … Continue reading The Center of the Universe
You must forgive me. A wave of nostalgia has hit and forced me to lie still in rememory. It was fitting, but I grew somber. How could I have forgotten the joy of this or that? How could I, when I have spent the better half forging life out of reason? So where was the … Continue reading Stop.
Where would anybody ever find meaning? Where could they make their mark? Yesenia had thought it lay in a city more than 300 miles away, just as far as she perceived her dreams were from being reality. Her reality was the arranged marriages they would have with merchants and the embellished wooden calesas that drove … Continue reading Bisabuela
The heart is nothing but a muscle, declared Dr. Ben Bass, a neurosurgeon as adamant as the skull is inelastic. The excerpt was from a film inspired by the novel, The Mountain Between us. That line was striking for the mood the setting was trying to convey, albeit being only partly true. Although the heart … Continue reading Bodily Electricity
We are a pack. We protect our own. Mother told me to be nice. He'd just been abandoned and left to fend for himself. The smallest thing among the others, 20 or so adults fighting for the lead title of Alpha. She said she couldn't leave him cowering among the dustbins as their howls pierced … Continue reading A Best Friend
Art is a thing of beauty that simply asks to be beheld at least once. Perennial only in memory. Bold but unassuming. Modest and unpretentious. To wear this type of art has its own caveat: to be all of the above and only add to what is everlasting. To the paintings in the musées, the … Continue reading What is Art?
Ashen clouds created vaults of the upper atmosphere in transcendence. They came from a plateau of industry just below. Presumably, the people of the gilded age were busy making a world from scratch, generating the heavens from soil and it whirred, it whistled from an impound of pressure until the machine came raining down upon … Continue reading Machinations
The Typewritten Tales 