The Mirrored Man's Smile
I’d give to sleep. I’d give anything to move past that same page in my crumbling book I’ve been stuck on for weeks. My fears and my sorrows have been replaced by rage. My once vivid dreams are an escaping mist, breathing between dust-fallen fingers of slowly fading rings. I’m a paraplegic staring at a collapsing ceiling from my bed, but the snarled teeth in my mind are screaming it fall faster....
Just keep moving. Keep tapping your fingers and stomping your feet. Keep your...– Christian Tenbrook
“What do you want me to say,” the man asked, his palms raised symmetrically next to his ears. “Oh, my friend, if my desires are your beliefs, you are already dead.” A gun went off.
He got out of his car and began to speak, as he did, he lit his cigarette carefully so that not even the slightest tinge of smoke would make its way into his car. “Maybe that’s what being a man is, you know? Maybe every man needs a secret life. What’s a man who lays all his entrails on the table for all his guests to see? Perhaps the conversations that only your ceiling could...
To Bob Geiger, for reasons that need not be explained here—and to Bob...– Hunter Thompson’s dedication page from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Keepsake by State Radio
One gonna heal my body gonna heal my pain One gonna settle me down then bring me back up again Im gonna put my family back together again One gonna hold my woman another gonna hold my job One gonna help me get up, another gonna help me stop One gonna help me talk right, one gonna lay me down to sleep One gonna hold my thoughts and another gonna hold my bones One gonna keep me warm and another...
Sometimes we gotta realize the wings are never coming, ya know? Everything starts rolling down hill and all we got is our own two feet to stop the whole show. I think that’s the difference in people. There’s those that get hit with a rock and stand there and talk about how bad the hole in their arm hurts, and then get hit again. Then there’s those that get hit with the rock and...
The Owl That Called Me Home
Yeah, somedays your dreams will get, whisped away, they’ll settle in the trees and you’ll, wish away, I promise you you’ll find that your, in the grave, I promise you you’ll find that your, innocent today, Oh, that damn owl, she’s calling me home, Oh, my damn brother, I’m hoping he can cope, with the splitting and cracking, of the wooden floors and supporting...
Goodnight, and good luck.– Murrow
Body A Flier
The photographs she’s taking, on her little TV screen, aren’t so damn delicate now, for my body’s was pulled, in all directions like the wind, with your hand, and her hand, and his hand alike. Then the great grey hands, beneath the great grey beard, painted and painted my bare skin white.
Don’t confuse your needs and your wants, that’s all I can say. In the end, you only really need one thing. You need God. You need the power of Christ to catch you when the world goes to shit. I don’t care how cliche that sounds. People will punch you in the mouth and walk away. It will happen. Your job, your wife, your car, your money, your abilities, your health, your family,...
“Two months. That’s the most I can give you. After that we’ll have to look elsewhere.” On the other end of the dialed phone a suit and a tie covered skin. Skin like mine. “You couldn’t have called two months ago?” I asked “Pardon?” “Never mind, thank you.” I slighted. We each hung up the phone, I think I actually hung up first....
So, let them shoot. Let them shoot round, after round, after round. Why the hell...
“Son, live tonight like it was the last night you’ll ever have to live.” “Kind sir, I’m sure that you would not like to hear how I’d live my life if that was the case.”
The Silly Songs
Cotton by the Mountain Goats Some things you just can’t think about. You just have to listen to them play while you count spots in your ceiling or trace the cracks in the concrete with your eyes while your hands draw circles on a fence post. It’s a stupid song. The lyrics mean nothing. Sometimes songs are just songs and images are just images. Sometimes one night is just one night....
Just because you can write doesn’t mean you can write a book. Writing a...– Anonymous
Good Blog. Be Sure To Check His Flickr Out. →
“Hello?” the man answered. “Truth,” the boy said and hung up the other end of the phone.
“What the hell is that kid doing out there?” A 50s man asked his wife as he pulled the out of date curtains out of his view through the window. “Looking at the dirt,” his equally timed wife said. “He’s been there for two hours, he’ll grow up to be an artist or one of those writer types,” the man conjured. Outside, a small boy knew his parents were...
Men without passion are nothing. Men with passion-untamed are fools.– Christian Tenbrook