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Poem – Winter
Deep into December. Cold sun breaks through greyed and empty clouds. Bare skeleton trees hold the sky within elongated fingers. The clouds speed across the horizon. Deep into December and the frozen group is also bare. Browned land looks scarred and neglected. This season of death leaves open its secrets, the things we are not…
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Music
The fragmented mind scattered across the landscape slows when the clouds depart and cold settles upon everything. There is music in that silence that each piece hears, ingests, and in turn emits a radiant light.
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Chicago
Day 2 in Chicago and the skies have opened with rain through the 40-degree air. Sitting at Starbucks with my love, the coffee and words flow.
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Cold
In the season of death when cold descends from out there to here, when thoughts and focus become singular, I feel the most alive.
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Following
Sometimes the path taken existed previously and the footprints of an ancient people are still visible. This path follows the border and on the other side the thin outline of the kingdom becomes visible.
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The Wasteland Here
I have started a new blog at www.wastelandhere.com to provide a separate space for random, non-sensical thoughts and ramblings about this world we live within and the universal planes we emerge from.
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Stone Path Review
The Stone Path Review website has been updated with a new theme. Also, there is a page on Facebook.
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Path Taken
Whatever path I took to here has led me astray. I thought the lights from a grand distance were salvation. Turns out they were a Black Friday Sale.
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Marya Hornbacher Interview
The recently conducted interview with Marya Hornbacher is now online at The Edge. Marya Hornbacher, a Pulitzer Prize and Pushcart Prize nominee, has written several books dealing with various mental illnesses, including eating and bipolar disorders. Her books have been translated into multiple languages and are taught as part of coursework at universities and literature…
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The Return
HZ He rises smiling from the concrete and rubble untouched, unscathed with dreadlocks he has returned. Arms raised, not to heaven not to any god – to home out there, beyond here this existence, this ill-defined reality to a birthplace mired in plasma, neo nuclear processes and colliding atomic particles. Dark matter conceals his presence…