When it comes to a certain level in one, pulling the blinds back to fill time up like an age ridden horse to gallop through deserts and other snow storms, to patch the old wrecks of another life coming forth to having hope in love, loving and giving not giving up, the futility of writing, writing to be heard? Writing in search of? What lies behind ( Read more... )

When the basis of all submerges and the form upon which grows I cannot look beyond and sense what I had wanted and what I had not. The contents, forms and structures were devastating contradictions to her and her fellow counterparts. They say that in the heart of the city lies the soul, I stood there for many years walking and returning but found ( Read more... )