shorts - (short stories) - and if you don't like them, then write your own, I say.

Added 05-01-03

images - images page - this is what the spider behind the cobwebs looks like.
Remember... cobwebs are usually pretty, spiders not.

Added 12-14-01

- a place for you to let yourself be heard without all the trouble of a phone call.

- tell me what you really want to say, the things going on in your head as you were going through this site.

Dec 5, 2003

I've added a new set of photos from my trip to Boston.

Hopefully they look nice.

I miss the cold/people/city already.

That could be a mark of a good vacation.


May 1, 2003

It has been a slightly long time.

Really though - its only been 242 days.

Why, in the grand scheme of things...

... That's barely anything

In any case - I've written exactly one new story

The Art of Being Ambigiuous.html
I don't really care if I spell that right - either.


Sep. 2, 2002

I was having a war with myself.

The carnage was specatular.

Things flying out of my mouth...

... things sloshing about in my head...

... I took no prisoners against myself

This is an aftereffect.
Added two stories: An Acute Sense of the Middle and The Art of the Broken Mind


Aug. 4, 2002

I swear its been too long since I've even added a single letter to this site.

I promise I'll do more.

Its just that I don't have any new stories to add.

Pictures yes, stories no.

I promise I'll add more to this

I just need to find something to write about again.


Nov. 26, 2001

We write and draw and sing and make music because we have to.

We'd scream loudly in our heads if we didn't do the things we have to do.

And we have to do these things.

Even when we stop. Even when we've given them up.

We'll always be dreaming about doing them anyway

The filters in our mind - the nets we have to catch all the immense details of the world and beyond... all catch different fish - all different colors, all different kinds...

This is what we have. This is what makes us different from everyone else, in the long run.

I may not the know the color of your skin, in the end, but maybe I'll know the color of your soul.


Oct. 14, 2001

Sometimes we break down.

Like a car in the middle of a deserted highway, overheated and overused.

And sometimes we just have to stand there, and look. At the broken car. At our stranded selves.

We're just here. And if we can't keep going, we're going to stop. We break down.

What exactly happens from then on is what happens when we are stranded in the middle of nowhere with a broken car:

We wave our white flags, and wait to get back home.


Oct. 5, 2001

Oh my oh my. How crazy I've always been.

I mean really, how kooky can you possibly push yourself?

Dream uncontrollable dreams. The kind that make your heart pound and throat dry.

The ones that are so close to true to you that it makes your eyes squint while they're already closed.