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17 June 2013 @ 05:46 pm
Genre: Fantasy, Drama, Fiction
First chapter in a longer work of fantasy fiction composing multiple viewpoint characters. The first chapter of each viewpoint character is posted on my page :)

Thank you for any feedback! It's much appreciated

24 November 2012 @ 07:31 pm
There is one thing that is worse than a change: the moment when you realize that things will change. That moment has a strange melancholia in itself. A melancholia for the present... A foreshadowing melancholia, it is.

Starting from that moment things really start to change. The thought itself is the first thing that changes things. The melancholia for the present creates a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Oh things will change, that is for sure, yes sir! Things will be different. And I, as this humble human being, am cursed with being haunted by the constant shadow of melancholy. In a complete narcissistic way, I miss not people, places, things; but how they made me feel. I miss my very own self from those days. I miss how my grandmother"s house made me feel. The feelings that the smell of her house gave me are nowhere to be found now. Nothing else makes me feel so safe and peaceful in the same way, in its own particular way. 

I"m sure they say many things about death, sir. They love saying things, don"t they? Is it a cruel mistress? Do we get used to it eventually? Do we learn how to cope with the absence of a person in the end?

Oh yes they do and it is and we do. But the emptiness that is left behind when a person is not there anymore remains as the same emptiness. Furniture has been carried out. The same sofa that your loved one used to sit on everyday has been given to a charity shop now. The rooms are empty, the floors are dusty and the the emptiness that has been left behind when that someone died is the windy hall of your memory. Pain has been carried away with the furniture. Tears dried long ago. Face faded, voice gone.

And yet the emptiness still remains.

Melancholia is the ghost behind my back, sir. Give me forgetfulness, because remembrance is the cruelest of all the mistresses.
20 October 2012 @ 01:13 am
Hello! I am requesting a little assistance from aspiring writers like me. I have a short story, "Ambient Light," in competition at the America's Next Author contest. I was ranked #5, the next I fell to #17, and today I am ranked #20 (out of 244, so far).I feel that my story is strong and I have a real shot at winning, but the problem is that the writers ranked above me have big online fan bases that are voting for, reviewing, and sharing their stories at a pace and volume that I can't match. I am trying, because I really want to win this thing, but I am definitely an underdog up against people who have been e-publishing for years.

If any of you sympathize with me and would be so kind, I would ask that you click here to read, review, vote, and share my story. If you do share it, using the buttons on my story page will track the data and improve my ranking. This a social contest dictated by social media, and in order to make it I need a much bigger and more ardent web presence!

You can also like my facebook page and recommend it to your friends. I have writing samples there, and I will post updates on my contest progress. Please help an aspiring author out! It only take a few minutes and you have nothing to lose! Thank you so much!
16 October 2012 @ 04:55 pm
Genre: Romance, drama, humor, supernatural...

Summary: Depressed and disillusioned with the world, Cloy prefers his solitude. One day on his way home from work he rescues a strange girl who turns out to be a goddess. She rewards him with the gift of healing, but a special ability like that doesn't go unnoticed. It won't take long until a professor bent on proving her paranormal theories and other less benevolent gods get interested in the new favorite. It seems that they all have an agenda of their own... and what's that about the Titans?


Liked it? Let me know what you thought or follow me!
15 October 2012 @ 04:09 pm
closer to closing drifting towards dozing awkward in her eyesight subtle in his own right. automatic involvement beeswarmed begging off heartworn edging out of airs at the foot of despair easyeyed and cursing randomly dispersing symptoms of love lost at high cost. of love thrown to the wind buried in black sandcastles volcanic passions leasing out their insides to poster children disaster ridden cast asides.
24 August 2012 @ 06:58 pm
rest reached forward through the density of the dark winter sang out to assure us hissing her famous remarks. we go along and sing too, in our sleep in our dream nations. Ease is unfair, "can your company keep" the pace of heart thieves. gone south under the weather by foot. kissed with in an inch of my strife.
24 August 2012 @ 06:50 pm
Bodyspeak loveheat Breathless Blush
Stolen swollen Bloodbath rust
Basking bruising haunted hush
Rose hips wet lips silent crush
23 August 2012 @ 07:09 pm
love extends
from heavens hands
to heavens ends
its clear demands
go solemnly
into obscurity
useless to you or me

the dead
are fed
the fruits of labors

the qualms of neighbors
long unsaid
bashing broken heads

silently pandering
alone on knees
with hands gesturing
the seeds
of his former
that at once could be
as well as deadly
to the psyche
of his young being
his well being
a well of sight seeing

stern days
of short meaning

and quick temper
my first whimper
pathetic and weak




my soul is

my story
my body

its two
23 August 2012 @ 06:52 pm
winter came on strong hanging from my shoulder slurring her cold curses forgetting the verses of sacred songs chipping diamonds on her sharpened canine incisors leaking her inky disguise staining my cheek bruising my bottom lip taking her time between sips of smoke and persimmon jaunty progress towards icy afterworldness vivid solstice doors to a dead age turning to a blank rage guessing wrong pushing into a depth unforgivable uneasy i'm uneasy at every turn its over and out its mayday call casting about preaching the word disturbed carrying cases of cash i've got silver and i hold weight in mirror fashion winter gauged my reaction salted my walk defended my horror as lush as lashes batting her beacon....
23 August 2012 @ 06:50 pm
song of so many
ghosts given up
back behind the broadside
underneath the in between
walk home slowly
give hope her chance
to catch you
in the act of love
in the middle lane
in the urbane transit
let love lie
your heart demands it
let hope pass by
if you have to
don't call out
save your sweet breath
don't call
they will catch you
and lock your body in
limp towards solice
beg it to take you in
rip out your passion
bleed out for the crowd
gathered round
sleep only to dream