Somewhere between male and female the soul lives unstirred by the memory of childhood. Somewhere between the Destroyer of Obstacles and the Goddess of Fortune the soul lives in a state of constant hip hop guided by a white flashlight. Somewhere between now and now the soul lives possessed by the certainty that it is always in transition and will always live in between the present and the present. Somewhere between Terminal 2 and Terminal 3 the soul lives in a million humans who will pass through life in the third person. Somewhere between the Real Shiva and the Statue of Shiva on display at the Art Institute of Chicago the soul lives in every person. In between the clowns and grapefruits. In between the yellow bus driver and the happy waiter. In between the zoo and the opera house. Between life and death. The soul lives light as a father. Or feather.
When & why did I kill creativity in my life? When I was a little boy, I wanted to be a photographer. When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a writer. When I was a teenager, I wanted to be a businessman. When I was an adult, I wanted to be a writer. […]
For the past year, my emotional readjustment has been more than mildly drugged. On occasion I’ve lured an inner ataraxia out with the use of two or three Benadryl. Diphenhydramine is not only my favorite histamine antagonist…
AD: What makes you most vulnerable? AD: Unicorns. Not being a unicorn. Zombies. Spanish-language zobmies. Corn. Wheat. I already answered this question last week. What makes me most vulnerable is answering the same damn question again because maybe I’ll screw up and say something different. Say something that will contract what I said before, like […]
1. Who are you? Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday I am a teacher, at least that is what I tell myself. I’m also a writer, but that’s not who I am. I’m also a marketing director on Monday, Wednesday and Friday–and sometimes Tuesday and Thursday, but that’s only when I feel like being a […]
Once upon a time, Yellow met Blue. Yellow was high and his face was blue, probably because of all the smoke in his chest. Blue thought, this is cool. Yellow can hold his breath for a long time while smiling and dancing with a broom. Clowns are never blue. The room was always smokey. Jumbo […]
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