Gender-Bending and Introspection

When writ­ing my sto­ry, just on a whim, I decid­ed to turn my pri­ma­ry pro­tag­o­nist from male to female. While much of the plot remains the same, I noticed some­thing about myself that star­tled me.

My char­ac­ter was stronger, and more dynam­ic, and no longer eclipsed by the sec­ondary pro­tag­o­nist. Which made me real­ize that this char­ac­ter had sim­i­lar traits as my oth­er female pro­tag­o­nists in oth­er sto­ries.

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The Dying Score (Short)

A late trib­ute to the late Maya Angelou. May she rest in peace. This might man­i­fest into a longer poem of its own in the future.


There’s some­thing more
That you ought to know
There was a greater play
That was writ­ten before
Your life was even your own.
Now that you turn the next stone,
Play your great­est score
And carve your lore
In the heart of life, as it walks out the door,
After it screams, “ENCORE!”

Your score will be played again.
New lad, new spir­it. But the same vio­lin.

Regarding Oblivion: Why We Needn’t Fear Of Being Forgotten

My first blog post, and it’s long and unre­fined. This post man­i­fest­ed from a beau­ti­ful con­ver­sa­tion I’ve recent­ly had with a friend. Brace your­selves!

Throughout my life, I’ve met many peo­ple who dream of being rich and famous — and it’s a no-brain­er that almost every­one wants to be rich and famous. Many of them have their dif­fer­ent rea­sons behind these wants. A lot of them, like Kevin MacLeod, mere­ly want to be rec­og­nized for the beau­ti­ful works they do. Many also seem to want a life of lux­u­ry, where their need of com­fort (we could debate if such an art is soul­less, but that’s for anoth­er top­ic) is what dri­ves their art. Many oth­ers want to sim­ply “fol­low the social lad­der” of pop­u­lar­i­ty as the norms have encour­aged.

And some are sim­ply afraid of obliv­ion.

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Grey Magic

When we’re left lim­bo between absolutes and fan­ta­sy, it might be con­fus­ing to know if we ought to ride the streams as they are, or bend the streams to our will.

Note: This is my only poem cur­rent­ly that requires the use of sleight-of-hand coin mag­ic to prop­er­ly por­tray what I mean. 

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The Chicken and the Road

Why did the chick­en cross the road?
It did not.

There IS no oth­er side.
Is there any place to hide
From the doubts of with­in
That makes our head spin?

I wish I could Pin-
Point that one voice from the din
That encour­ages me on
To the road of a new dawn.