The Informer

Took off in a blaze of ideas and didn’t come back till I was soaked and stained with proof. Information loaded my brain and I knew that once I sit down to write, life will bloom.

The characters will write for themselves and I’ll just be the instrument. No longer the researcher, but the informer of their exploits. Writing is a strange act. Life is a strange game. But somebody has to talk about it.

Gypsy by the Sea

As the winter chill bind me to the season, I find myself dreaming of a bohemian summer,

moving in directions dictated by my envy. Not caring what comes my way, and appreciating

only what is on offer. If fields of flowers lay me to sleep, I know my dreams will be of the ocean in the summer time.

Turquoise In A Storm

Late -Autumn rain pours outside my window. Today the sea gets pins and needles against its skin while the sand surrenders itself, displaying micro craters as pellets of water fire against its flesh. The dark emotional sky calms down every now-and-again to let some coolness through. Perforated cloud ceilings travel over the earth, showing patches of blue and hues of green through random openings. All I can do is sit, watch, and wait for the Gods to stop ruling.

collage by sewpsychological on Polyvore