The Knitting Stagehand

...the time between posts is so darn long? Perhaps because my internet connection wasn't so good. Well, what's been happening? On ...

I cannot begin to express my delight in Summer. It is a time of adventuring, reading, water, and general Huckleberry-finn and Tom Sawyer ma...

I applied for a voulenteer crew position on the brig the Lady Washington, and after three weeks of waiting, I'm going a little crazy. O...

Recently I've been mulling over the idea of why the "Underworld" is so tantalizing, so facinating. As a christian, you aren...

The sweet faced boy's hands are strong sharply filed nails claw the ends of fingers which, move surprisingly gently Eyes limned thickly...

The world this morning was like a Myiazaki film. Fog blanketed the horizion, muffling most sounds. Subduing people. Some piece of machinery...

Listen to the rain feathers falling peace descending Listen to the rain Quietly blanketing the world in tones of grey Listen to the rain we ...

You've found me naked Dearheart. You've done things; I let you do them. Now I sit, ensconsed in my place of solitude, in a pool of...

I am dark and terrible. Consumed by visions of ghosts, tormented by the night. By people. By Men. The one over my left shoulder looks li...

People are NEVER whom they, at first, seem to be. -A. Curtiss

The true test of any college student, to prove if you have properly assimilated into life on campus is if you can navigate the endless thron...

Stagnation is death My heart bleeds thorns, razor blades of pain. Je suis le cadeau que ne personne merite.

The more I quest and question life, the more I discover how little I actually know. College is supposed to be an amazing time of discovery ...

If you are truly and deeply a Christian, when you write, or make any sort of art for that matter, it will come from your world view, regardl...

Soul Searching finger tendrils running over old scars opening unhealed wounds Purging Thorns Removing festering thorns spikes, knives, spear...

Spilling confessions in the black-blood-ink tattoo on the pale white skin of the page crossed with, little blue veins carrying the life-bloo...

Is it not sad that I should feel more at home among the silent, verbose tomes of the world's poetry and non-fiction? Should my company n...