Grim riddles lurk in the recesses of a gnarled and bent wave of darkness

The mental nectar was a phantom

Or perhaps a truth gleaned by the oversight of a mind veiled in the ecstasy of synthetic liberation

Who will ever know if they were truly there on those nights

I care not

I only seek the shared and communal moment of health that is beheld by real people

Send word to the ghosts that I...

A pale dawn cracks open behind the eyes of a saint

We can only hope his faith will last the night

Tethering coils bring streams of mercury and paint

While seething thoughts going backwards cascade into the original light

A forgotten sentiment now permeates a once dismal cavern within

Like a memory from the future once laden with a mental nectar forgotten since ancient times

And now someth...

“She’s not who she says she is,” said a woman from house keeping. Earlier she had caught me using the Way Machine in the bathroom. That thing was supposed to save my life that night. I had gotten a little rooted down, as I like to say, by losing track of my environment while sending a message to The Lighthouse. The message was a bit frantic, as I was in a tough situation at that hotel.

I had run ...

The day you’ve been waiting for has finally arrived. You’ve remembered that thing that was on the tip of your tongue for so long. You sought for it like a lost treasure in the material world.

It was nowhere to be found.

Now you stand tall feeling the missing link within. There is nothing to do, nowhere to go, nothing to accomplish. But you know now. You know that thing you forgot. What a wonde...

Round and round a circlet of fire or water

Tapping into vague or clear energies

Broken wax on a sinless altar

Discerning the One Thing from plastic effigies

Solar figments hanging from a point of darkness

While the living walk in rigged fields of twisted allegories

A hallowed night to search tombs for forgotten contentedness

Because even the dead tell stories...

January 9th, 2014 (Eric)

The New Year has just started and people are already calling me Tweedle Dumb. I feel like a somber, pitiless acorn falling from a tree to a never ending drop. My gut is wretched and my intestines coil like some constrictor out of another continent. I haven’t even written anything this year; not one sentence. And everyone is calling Laura Tweedle Dee. We’re always walking ...

It had been knocking all night. Thump thump. Thump thump. I had been home alone all weekend, wondering where this sound was coming from. I chose the middle of the night to walk down into the basement with a torch. This was an old Victorian style home that belonged to my wife’s family going back generations. It was on our first date that she told me about some of the myths and legends surrounding t...