The pen is an instrument of torture, and relief

With each stroke it pulls, twists, and rips at the heart. Mind over muscle, muscle over thought. Something so small, yet so terrible.

Thoughts of gray become light, and the sweetest of meadows become filled with thickets and thistles. And the wind blows to and fro, and stops for silence.

All this from a pen stroke ...

A single pen stroke...

What’s the point of such a fearless night? The moonlit waves crashing on the shore, and yet nothing ... nothing .... abysmal dry docks on the horizon. And yet nothing more and nothing less.

In a quiet time. A quintessential truth for a Quintessential man. That Life is Strange, with its twists and turns and gaps in the road. Days filled with love and terror. Electrifying emotions. Fearfully dreadf...

It talked to me, the dreadful thing.

The things it said, I couldn’t bear.

The wind was howling, as my feet were running.

The fog came settling in from the east.

I hopped into my car.

“I know I shouldn’t have played with that thing” I shouted, throwing the spirit board into the back seat.

I wasn’t driving for very long before I heard the dreadful thing shuffle beneath my feet.

“I am here” it s...

Shadows form in the absence of the sun

The gleaming moon present on the horizon

Trees dancing to an empty sound.

Their leaves fluttering off in the wind.

Tonight no howl is present from the midnight wolves.

No reassurance from the crickets that all is well.

The sound of the ocean is but a fond memory.

Tonight something is different.

Tonight the world is hollow.

It is empty.

No rhythm for c...

I now understand ...

That Life is wonderful.

Strange but wonderful.

With its complexities.

Its eccentricities.

So memorable and yet so fast.

It’s value is priceless

The Memory of the mind, it’s medium

It gives and takes.

True to its form.

Birth and death

Light and shadow

Rain and the the ever magnificent sun.

Life makes its own way.

And this is the beautiful wisdom of it all.

I finally u...

“I am happy”, she thought to herself as she swung to and fro.

High above the city streets, and the Tanica plains. In the shadow of the excelsior mountains, she swung, to and fro.

Her feet dangled off the wooden swing. “It so beautiful”, she whispered.

The light breeze swirled around her bringing with it the sweet smell of the fairacel blooms. Their orange and red petals fluttering in the wind...