Me in a Lonesome Mode

A meditation on Hunter S. Thompson and Love

The world revolves around the space from which it was created, the word of the godhead a formless first sound breathing into the horribly beautiful noise of the many worlds crashing together…

Can’t sleep, brain buzzing, an open expanse of night summons me to write. Writing, any kind of writing, now a rare luxury in my life, once a necessary desperate striving for connection in the midst of savage loneliness.

Time and space. Luxuries. The catch-22 of a marriage and career in the city.

Thoughts In A Small Humid Hotel Room

Contained within our minds lies the key that would unveil all mysteries. But to open this door…

Within the domain of the actual, therein lies the counterfactual, an intangible omnipresent heat that draws us together and apart all at once. A liminal subterranean dark matter that is our quietest moments noise, the subconscious blur testing our outer periphery of vision, that subcutaneous desire that ousts all hypocrisy of our nominal selves when…

The Eye in the Middle of the Storm

In seconds of self-awareness, Janet felt bliss in the middle of all of the noise. It was as if all this anxiety, madness, fear was designed just so as to enhance and demarcate clarity in the moments when it came, crystalline, dew-dropped, silent before the storm. There…