I long for the peace that comes with dying: to fade into the afterglow of a life no longer wanted, to settle into the stillness and comfort of oblivion, drifting aimlessly and endlessly in the comfort of not being, unaware of my awareness, and blissful in the nothingness; but twilight holds me captive, and I... Continue Reading →
I know what it is to be one of the restless dead, for that is the condition of my soul and my barely beating heart.
Art: Boris Karloff as The Mummy
Turned out another charcoal piece this evening: Boris Karloff as The Mummy. 24"x18" charcoal on paper.
Art: Vincent Price
I'm slowly working through a series of charcoal portraits. Last night's bout of insomnia had me spend some time with Vincent Price.
And when the silence takes me all that will remain will be the empty echo of what never was straining in the background of a world that never noticed, a resonant dissonance lost in the decay of itself.
A Philosophical Discourse Between Groot and Hodor On Self Identity and What It Is To Be
I'm sorry. I had to. There'd better some damn award waiting on me for this one. This was intense to write. ______ I am Groot. Hodor. I am Groot. Hodor. I am Groot. Hodor. I am Groot. Hodor. I am Groot. Hodor. I am Groot. Hodor. I am Groot. Hodor. I am Groot. I am... Continue Reading →
stranded at the breaking point a world away from anywhere and there is only between here and there the distance between life and death
This quiet is painful, restless, and it undoes momentum, creating an anxious stasis that leaves me unsettled but paralyzed, frozen by fear of the need to scream, to tell the world what's inside and to let out what was never meant to be except between you and I.
I'm holding on to nothing even though there's nothing to hold I step into the emptiness of a world I don't know Shattered belief and collapsing faith aren't enough for me to hold and I'm holding on to nothing But this nothing this nothing won't let me go
This winter in its infancy settles on me, the weight of the cold reinforced by the lengthening darkness. I miss the warm summer evenings, when twilight would last forever, and tomorrow was unwritten and so far away, and I, in my innocence and the comfort of forever knew nothing of today.