I wonder if they know. I wonder if their words were intended to hurt, or whether they are simply cavalier with their remarks. I allow myself private debates on whether they stamp on me as a means to put me in place, or if I’m a stone to be submerged as they continue on their…
Starring in the role of Juliette “Jette” d’Arc Dubois, sister of leading lady Jeanne Camille Dark, will be Ms. Jean Harlow, nee Harlean Harlow Carpenter (1911 – 1937). She was not originally whom I had in mind for the role, but The Voices were quite insistent and excited when I consented. Apparently Ms. Harlow was…
From my photography website, which I’ve been getting in shape. I’d forgotten that I wrote a brief story for this photo, and thought I’d post it here.
Warning: This is not a post to read if you don’t want to know about Man’s inhumanity to man. I wrote the first draft this post back in 2007, in response to some bloggers’ voiced perceptions that there is a face of inhumanity, that particular groups of people have been humanity’s victims or demons. Let…
Writing a book is an interesting endeavor. What and how you write shifts with your mood, and similarly, how you view what you’ve written changes in the same way. There are times you think it’s brilliant and times you’re positive it’s as dull as dishwater. The truth is always in between the two extremes. Having…
There are two kinds of Godzilla movies (ignoring the previous US fiasco wherein the big G-man was some kind of T-Rex mutant). The first kind is where Godzilla is a beast who (whether on purpose or by accident) ravages a city (usually Tokyo) and leaves thousands dead. In the second kind, Godzilla is a friendly…
Today’s mood: Joe Satriani, with “Light Years Away.” Kill ’em, Joe. Shoulda gone to Venice. “Wind in the Trees”
There was the full of you all pronated jaw and pointy nose a jagged smile i thought was glory large eyes and curious stare In retrospect, not sure why I mistook you for perfection Goblins and ghosties and long-legged beasties and girls that go bump in the night. My mama warned me ’boutcha.
I am a child of the 1960s. I was nearly born colored, as my mother had been but slipped between the cracks of definition. She, born in a more tranquil time the color of separate but equal. We learned, though, it was equal only in the way same-color paint bought in two batches is equal.…
though long is the way she never forget, never forget, never forget she never forget stories of ancestors heat of her tears, unrequited anger appears impenitent ruin negligence sears grandmother cries, but never you fear, (along the way, the longa the way, you stronger today) i once heard her say (she never forget, never forget,…
The Artists' Sanctum 