Posted inThoughts and Opinions
The Children We Cast Out
There is a particular kind of silence that forms after violence, a societal hush masquerading as resolve. In the 1990s, this silence gave birth to a policy: zero tolerance. It…
Posted inSports Thoughts and Opinions
Sports and Race
Throughout the past century, the relationship between sports and race has become a critical area of sociological study. When viewed from an outside perspective, it is hard to refute the…
You Never Truly Escaped the Moonlight: Part V
Dancing in the Moonlight Death can be death. Nothing else, nothing more. We lose those we love and gain new love. Songs echo in the night, and silence rules all.…
You Never Truly Escaped the Moonlight: Part IV
Sail Away into That Great Unknown The only path forward is to go onward without understanding. We humans are limited by our finite understanding of not only ourselves, but the…
You Never Truly Escaped the Moonlight: Part III
I Drowned in Those Twin Rivers He was awash in the light of a new moon when I lost him, just as I first remember him in the overarching recollection…
Posted inMy Story Poetry Uncategorized
You Never Truly Escaped the Moonlight: Part II
Tears Might Be Forgotten When Adrift With my vision blurred, I look with strained eyes to the ceiling that lies imposingly above me. The world itself is seemingly magnified by…
You Never Truly Escaped the Moonlight: Part I
The Sea of Our Own Sorrow I write to not lose my life. My memory is a dogged thing, shifting between pure clarity to inept delirium. I maintained delusions of…
Posted inBlog Posts My Story Short Stories
The Life of N
Introduction N is an altogether remarkable women, who at the age of 78 has lived a life full of both great highs and lows. Her life is reflective of a…
Posted inBlog Posts Short Stories
The Quiet That Followed
The world didn’t end all at once. No, it was quieter than that. A whisper unraveling beneath the threshold of human hearing. A soft exhale lost in the static of…
Posted inBlog Posts Short Stories
The Pale Man of Gloaming Street
They say the fog in London has moods. That it breathes and listens. That it moves not by wind, but by want. It rolls off the Thames in thick ribbons,…