Round and round they go, Why do they toil so? At the mercy of their master, Faster, faster, faster, From here to there to here, And then back to there, Where are they going? It seems there is no knowing, At the mercy of their master, What a dreadful disaster.
The schooling fish know not the difficulty of living an authentic life. How simple it must be for them. To see not with their own eyes. To feel not with their own hearts. The school keeps them safe. Their judgements are reinforced, and they fear no retribution. Foolish fish. Never do they realise that to… Continue reading Schooling Fish
Once upon a time… I gave away my soul. All of it. Everything I had. I opened my heart and gave another my world. And do you know what she said? “is that it?” Such a simple question capable of cutting such a gaping wound. It tears at the very fibre which makes one human,… Continue reading Once upon a time…
The below is a short story from my days playing poker professionally in Portland. It is a story of just one of the MANY nights I came home from the card room a loser. A night at the cardroom And that night, I walked alone from the dimly lit card room. Down the steps, through… Continue reading A night at the cardroom
A week without shaving, the Grizzle no longer pricks, but is rather soft to the touch. Crisp suit pants and shirt, cuffs rolled to the elbow. A Uniform to conform. Grizzle is out of place amongst such attire. Uniform does not see the Grizzle. Or perhaps it does, yet intentionally does not acknowledge. It instead… Continue reading Ode to the Grizzle
A throwback story here about a Wednesday night that had a far more profound impact on my life than I could've ever imagined. There's a lot more to this story than what is written. Context is important, but I'm not going to provide it as this is a blog, not a place for essays. For… Continue reading The Wednesday: printing an inferno
Jen didn’t think this day would come. A silly thought really...if you organize something without cancel, it's more than likely to come… On the ground beside the front door lay a maroon backpack. The straps were worn. It’d seen better days. Jen considered upgrading, but Red was a pack-horse. Reliable, sturdy, spacious. He’d never let… Continue reading Part I: A Fear-ly slick visitor