“You always leave your dirty clothes in the living room!” grumbled Ellie. Her voice echoed through the wooden panels of the small cabin, reaching Edgar, who had just retired to bed. It wasn’t a big house—just enough to comfortably accommodate two souls. Outside, it was
Change that manTurn him into someone else—We didn’t like the first guy anyway.He smiled too wideLooked too happy.Wipe that grin from his face,Okay, let him keep half of it.We aren’t monsters—But let’s make him one. Bulge his eyes,Burn his ears,Slap his cheek so hardIt rings
Recently an elderly couple, who didn’t have their children around, were struggling with technology. They came to me, and I was happy to help. It was no big deal for me, but it was for them because their whole lives depended on it. Their limited
One thing I have come to realize over the years is the existence of both feminine and masculine forms of energy in the universe. Just take a look around you—Most of the female species have a male counterpart, and nearly every male can’t function without
When you have places to go,Miles to walk,And sometimes, more often than not,You stumble and fall.Find your wayOut of the hole,And somehow, you always,Get pulled down.Remember—Down is only a direction,And it’s okay to go there too,Just as you move left and rightOr row through lifeBack
It’s okay sometimesTo show your tears,Know your tears,And the place they come from.It is what makes youWhat you are.How long do you planTo rest in a bottle?Let everything outSmash it to pieces— Fall to the groundMake a mess,Vent it all out.Your boat is caught in a
What an extraordinary book! Hands down, one of my most prized possessions to date. What the book primarily does is let you delve into the beautiful and surreal mind of the most legendary writer of his age, Satyajit Ray—a genius whose prowess is praised even
I happened to come across a video of an artist performing fluid art in which they tie a paint bucket with a hole in it to a string. The artist then allows Earth’s gravity to take charge, creating a painting. The resulting image is similar
It’s quite surreal how the expanse of people we touch in a lifetime remains so limited. We brush up against a handful and conjecture it to be our world. Around 8.1 billion people on this planet, and our lives are going to cross paths with
A torrent of tormentWhen it passes through life,It leaves behind a rare calm,For you to gather the piecesAfter the storm.The drumming and howlingOf last nightHave died down,Along with your hopesFor the familiar sun.The wind has droppedIts gears of introspection,To count your deadAnd find the breathing.Go!
