Run.
There’s a trap door down the stone path that leads to another rock bottom, or two. My millionth run isn’t meant for you. There’s a lady on the couch in…
the collective dream – on the flipside of recovery
There’s a trap door down the stone path that leads to another rock bottom, or two. My millionth run isn’t meant for you. There’s a lady on the couch in…
You shouldn’t throw those words around like flaming lips in a one man show. As if you were the only one with the dagger. Ha! I say, as my mind…
“The eye sees a thing more clearly in dreams than the imagination awake.” Liz looked down at her phone, desperately trying to figure out how to text, “WAIT FOR…
There isn’t anything in the Bible that says I have to miss you, yet, I do. I don’t know why this happens so abrubtly at times when I find my…
“Reality is something you rise above.” Liza Minenelli A young man, spry, and in a rush, left his post where he had waited next to me for the incoming train bound…
Like the young, artistic and budding alcoholic that I was, I finally found my tribe amongst the inebriated ideals of the dreamers, the doers, the back breakers and shakers and makers, the misunderstood, the outcasts and odd balls, the black sheep and square pegs, the vibrant cheerleaders that always said what they meant with an eccentric flair, the thirsty souls and hungry minds, the saddle tramps and pioneers, the esoteric existentialists and flaming liberals, out-of-the-box thinkers and the daytime drinkers, the philosophers of form and function, the dirty birds and slick tongues, the captains of the subjective vs. objective, and the dj’s turning beats in the melting pot of our very own version of creative genius.