Three Different Ways

Three Different Ways:
Dreams, Madness, and Myths

  • By A Thread

    Migraine time again. So many images sweeping me up into a vortex of cacophonic assaults of light and movement. Many of them, nothing but misfirings of stressed neurons. Something to chuckle at, then discard like a Facebook opinion. But two days after one image in particular, I keep finding my attention drawn back to it.

  • Plan B

    The roses. The ribbons. The baby’s breath intertwined. The platters. The goblets. The special bottle of wine. The tablecloth. The napkins. The inked and handwritten cards. All strewn about the floor amidst clumps of broken shards.

  • Odds & Ends

    I have the itch to write, and naught a topic to write about. I’ve been sitting at the keyboard, staring dumbly at the screen to no avail. I do have some ideas to ramble on about, but none of them will have the length I am accustomed to. Maybe I should have made a Tumbler.

  • Easy

    The crumbs are hardening on the plate. I’m actually watching the moist smears harden.

  • One Sunday Afternoon

    What silliness. Are you ill? Perhaps you’ve caught a cold, or one of those roving illnesses that sweep through the city from time to time. Look at you. You worry me.

  • Results of OpenID Commenting Test: Fail

    A few of you brave souls were able to leave a comment after logging in with OpenID. The bulk of you curious folk, however, were not. Thank you very much for emailing me, and FB messaging me about the failure.

  • Need Help: Testing OpenID Commenting

    Some of y’all are trying to leave a comment using the OpenID system, and are not able to do so. I tweaked some things, but need third party (YOU) help to confirm if I done broke it good or fixed it good.

  • Tomorrow

    “When will it open?”, asked the son. “Tomorrow.”, replied the mother. “But I want it to open today!”, demanded the son. “Not the right time.”, replied the mother. And the son was sent out to play.

  • Moving On

    Set off to pitch a fire, instead found a new home. The svartalf helped me find this place, but only after days of purgings and purifications at his insistence, and by his hand. The cave didn’t look like a natural formation to me, there were too many inconsistencies given the dark granite that formed it.

  • Lose Some, Gain Some

    His hand was open the entire time. Twas my fear that kept me bound. I lose a name, and gain myself. It wasn’t that long ago, I openly came out and publicly admitted I am a Lokean. Twas a label I had been actively avoiding since Loki grabbed me and caught me in his snare.