What I Love as a Writer
That moment when words just start rolling off your tongue. At first they don't really make sense to you, but as it flows about half way through, they all begin to fall together and reveal a story or a meaning or a truth. That moment when you see what the picture is trying to be and then your in control. Some people call that a muse I think. I see what they mean, it almost feels like someone or something else is working through you. I think, however, it's the subconscious spilling over; the place where 95 percent of you exists. It's a fantastic feeling when the pen just rolls across the paper almost on its own, but it's that moment when the rest of you catches up and can guide where it's going.
Because of Balance
Just as light cannot exist without dark, young cannot exist without old, and euphoria cannot exist without pain; silly cannot exist without serious. Would the day still seem bright if darkness never took over at night? Would that moment have been as funny if every other moment felt the same? Would that mountain seem as grand if you've never felt small? It feels sweeter when pride comes after shame and rise comes after fall. Why so serious? Because that's the secret to loving fun.
Santa Fe
The sky sits in layers on top of a layered earth below. Dark somber tufts wisp across a contrast of bright, puffy blankets, which lay on top of a gold horizon, nestled behind a bed of sweeping, painted mountains. A display of darkened circles appear, shrink, and disappear on the dampened wood. They look like a gentle song, if the eyes could hear music. The day is inviting, asking for your company.
Conspiracy
Ayrden Siler was a brilliant and well respected investigative journalist. As he was on the verge of uncovering his most corrupt story, a near fatal accident left him dependent on prescription medications and hearing voices in his head. While he survived, his credibility as a journalist had been compromised. After years of trying to reclaim normalcy in his life, the female voice that had lived in his head since the accident was was beginning to sound more like radio transmissions and static followed by incredibly horrific migraines. Ayrden starts to question what really happened in the hospital all those years ago.
Our Passing
In our passing,
You sauntered by,
Across the street,
In our passing,
You looked as you last had,
You walked with life in you,
In our passing,
I'd forgotten,
In the moment,
In our passing,
Your face melted away,
And returned to your grave,
In our passing,
I let it in,
I felt the pain,
In our passing,
From that day I saw you,
I was never the same.