Paradox

Diligence and devotion and apathy bleed into grey, like watered-down black ink seeps into pure white paper; all is grey. And empty and full, and falling apart and coming together. All at once.

Featured post

Ekphrasis (not to be confused with Catharsis)

Twice I have wandered the solid-color halls of Crystal Bridges—a mostly free art museum in Bentonville, Arkansas—gazing at walls peppered with paintings, sketches, and collages like the glittering gemstone and woven feather earrings clinging to plastic jewelry trees in Macy’s.

Lie to me

I tell myself so many lies to live the way I do. You wouldn't believe the sheer number. Or maybe you would. This is my confession. A while back—I couldn't even tell you when—I let the demons in, and they've been here ever since. Roaming through rooms, stashed in dark corners, smiling black teeth under... Continue Reading →

Like Pain is Kitsch

There's too much sh*t and not enough words. A Christian college was supposed to be good for my language, edifying I suppose. Ah, well. You know what they say about a "well-placed damn." There's dried blood on these typewriter keys. Let's fix that. I've been away awhile. The bleeding never stopped. Only the words did.... Continue Reading →

Manifesto

I believe in writing that whispers. I believe in writing that doesn't shout to get your attention. It snaps, only once. *Snap* To beckon you in, to draw you closer. To lean in, to hold eye contact. To listen, writer to reader. Voice to voice. If you can't hear it, draw a little closer. I'll... Continue Reading →

Rest

He hung there, suspended between surface and depth, oxygen and solvent, ripples and stillness. The turtle stayed perfectly still, webbed feet motionless, his head just barely protruding from the deceptive water. He floated, indefinably content in the patch of sunlight that was picking its way though the adjacent tree branches to grace the water's nebulous... Continue Reading →

706 Wilcox St.

How do I encompass this? How do I capture this? Do I dare chain this moment down to the binds of paper and serif? Am I even a writer if I don't try? I grew up in an art gallery. I have never said it that way before, but I think it is the truest... Continue Reading →

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑