Writing. Kung Fu. Coffee. Writing. Jugo de agave con limon y sal. Wrting. Reading. Thinking. Engaging in meaning-filled dialogues with others. Coffee. Jungle Java. The Beach. OB. Music.
Music
Sleeping People and all they spawn. . .Jazz & Blues. Soul. Funk.Stravinsky. Poulenc. Silence. Crickets chirruping. Not those wild green parrots outside my window on the electric wires.
Movies
I just watched the original--and the remake of--The Day the Earth Stood Still.
Television
Fringe--and I'm drawing a blank on the others. . .Okay. . .now the sludge has given up its gems: Castle. . .now it's sinking again. . .
Books
I just finished reading a chilling novel by Lisa Manetti: The Gentling Box. . .Not for the faint-of-heart--or soul. She's up for a Bram. . .I see why.
Thanks 4 the ADDD! here is a lil sum 4 ya hope to hear back from you soon...
I am not my scars I know you see my pains reflection through the window of my eye Every let down, misconception, every hurt, and every lie. I try to cover up, yet my nakedness still shows, You see me, in my truest form, I am vulnerable and exposed. Sometimes the phantom of my past appears, though I try to forget Even when I hide it in the darkness, I still see its silhouette. So why do I regret…? These events are the fabric of who I’ve come to be Every instance like a fiber woven in my life’s tapestry. I can only look back for wisdom, I must let this be my strength But even I have yet to discover the true extent of its length. I have only gone so deep, on the surface it hurts so much When I feel my ugliness visible, I just want to cover up. But these memories, the pain from my past, and what I see… This is only an illusion, not the definition of me. I am not my downfalls, and I am not my mistakes, Yet when they look at me, this is all they seem to take. But look at ME, look into my soul… Look at who I really am, not the scars that clearly show. I have to remind myself who I am every day, Because everyone and everything tries to lead my mind astray. They want me to believe I am who they see me to be… They try to show me what I’ve overcome as if it’s still me. Will I live up to be the conceptions as they have made Or will I make my own path, let the past lie where it may See, I am not my scars, my scars are just the proof That I have healed from my afflictions, and I have made it through. -Fiyah Shoot ur email addy over to get on my mailing list! have a great day! =)
I'm feeling sad that the world has lost a person who was a little bit "Off The Wall," was a "Thriller," who not only thought he was "Bad" and, whether their was "Blood On The Dance Floor" or not, proved to the world that he was "Invincible." Like a "Smooth Criminal" he "Moonwalk" into everybodies heart.
Chicks dig scars, everyone knows that, right? Meet Severence DeSnappio, a man who creates ‘fake’ injuries for desperate clients. He’ll get you a stab wound, shot gun blast, snowboarding injury - but a bite from a great white shark?
Set in Miami, Chicks Dig scars is a lyrical, Lynchian mix of dream logic and hard boiled detection.
If you would like to read a sample of one of the stories from ISLINGTON CROCODILES’ you can do that now as one of the stories is posted on the Islington Crocodiles blog page. RAIDERS is the disturbing story of Barwise and Micky.
As Graham Joyce says in his foreword to ISLINGTON CROCODILES, ‘This is the edge.’
Online Now!
