Tags » Autobiographical


I concentrate on the liquid in my mouth. Dr Pepper. I swallow it in parts. Sectioning it off in my mouth so that each time I swallow, a gulping noise is heard. 437 more words

The artist as a young man

I got an early start on my art career. I remember my mom teaching me how to color when I was about four. According to her I needed to stay within the lines, but I thought that was bullshit. 587 more words


Anaïs Nin

We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. 40 more words


Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

How shallow is the stage on which this vast drama of human hates and joys and friendships is played! Whence do men draw this passion for eternity, flung by chance as they are upon a scarcely cooled bed of lava, threatened by the beginning by the deserts that are to be, under the constant menace of the snows? 29 more words



Some of you may wonder why I chose writing above any other fine art to pursue. I have other skills, and I pick things up very quickly. 1,665 more words

About this blog.

This blog is selfish.  I started it because I wanted to.  That’s the long and short of it.  When I chose to start it (a few days ago), I did not have any goals for it to achieve or purpose behind it.   84 more words


White dust

We see  ourselves in between pages and find our dust there . White silver fish are swimming near dusty spines . Book pages are mortal, starting from where our silver hair ends. 76 more words