I was suddenly taken back…

I was suddenly taken back to summers on the highland, where time spent chasing freedom and slurping cherry sno-cones with the boys was worth infinitely more than anything the gelt that perpetually eluded our tattered pockets could possibly buy. Art: “Driftwood” Cuatro Pececitos #art #Artwork #literature #creativewriting #Prose #ModernArt #Artist

My mind became increasingly disengaged…

My mind became increasingly disengaged with preoccupation about my impending fate as he drawled on with affected sincerity about the merits of our friendship and his hollow promises of moral support during the trial. My reality: a justice system is only as good as the most flawed and imperfect people who participate in it; from the outset it seems, what we ideally apotheosize as a well-oiled machine capable of moral equity is often in reality just a scabrous, unpredictable, i

Grazing Sheep…

Dozens of grazing sheep dotted the lush green swards like fattened bits of ripe cotton blanketing the meadow. What was left of the old barn stood humbly along Moosehead Creek, a skeleton of its old self, sustained only by faint glimpses of lost time. Art: “Le Valhermeil vicino Pontoise” Camille Pissarro #art #Artwork #creativewriting #CamillePissarro #Prose #Artist

The reality…

“The reality, Sebastian,” Dr. Ganguly started as he grabbed his coat and headed for the door, “Is that what you tend to consider learned speculation really just amounts to empty falderal in the minds of your detractors and supporters alike.” He gazed at Sebastian intently, squinted his eyes, perched his thick black frames further up the bridge of his long, bony nose before removing them abruptly. “You’ll have to take a different approach.” Art: “Two Men at the Table” Erich H

Arbitrary and Tenuous…

The arbitrary and tenuous theoretical matrix within which Dr. Bledsoe proposes his radical interpretation of the continuum hypothesis could only be justified by a kind of disingenuous process of ratiocination that conveniently disregards even the most fundamental axiomatic models common to nearly every widely-accepted program in set theory to date. Art: “The Scream” Edvard Munch #art #TheScream #Artwork #humor #EdvardMunch #Prose #Artist

Two harrowing bouts….

Two harrowing bouts with pancreatic cancer all but killed him, but really didn’t make him any stronger either. He now spends his days moping about in a constant state of valetudinarian gloom, resentful of his past, excessively critical of his present state, and cynical about the future. Art: Egon Schiele #art #Artwork #creativewriting #Prose #Artist #EgonSchiele

Truth Be Told…

“Truth be told, we have created a consortium of imaginary fools; of meandering acolytes pretending to bear the cross of shame for a greater good perpetually beyond reach.” Art: “Portrait of the Journalist Sylvia von Harden” Otto Dix #art #Expressionism #Artwork #monologue #OttoDix #20thCenturyArt #Prose #Artist

It never really felt much like home again.

It never really felt much like home again. The sun-kissed meadows of my youth were now replaced by a tawdry and vulgar juxtaposition of discount furniture stores, blaring neon 24-hour checks cashed signs, and eldritch lofts hastily adorned with skeuomorphic Victorian-era window panes sometimes doubling as psychic’s offices. Where the ferns once blossomed now sits a ghastly array of pastel-colored houses with no windows, overgrown gardens with no flowers, and sinuous

She Was Always…

She was always kind of a public guru, the poor man’s barroom Socrates. Her answers were always more questions that inevitably led to seemingly inane quibbling over the obvious. Or was it so obvious after all? At the end you left realizing you knew infinitely less about that which we all thought we had ever known. Art: “Morning Light” Dan McCaw #art #contemporaryart #Artwork #Prose #Artist

A candle light…

A candle light flickers in the distance. Deep burgundy walls Provide a fitting backdrop For her smile. Warmth encompasses the moment. #Chopin #Mazurka #piano #Prose

Where words fail…

Where words fail, the dictates of the union between the subconscious and superconscious prevails. It is eloquence in its finest, purest and most transcendent form. Impressions of this eloquence radiate in the form of thought and being from a central point where all the colors seem to converge; this point is perhaps an approximation of the most central point of our own being, the beginning of eloquence. Pure thought is subconscious. Pure being is superconscious (or maybe even

Beneath her saccharine platitudes…

Beneath her saccharine platitudes he caught a brief, yet disturbing glimmer of her pain. The passion and sincerity in her eyes dissembled a flame of hurt that always sought to be extinguished, but managed to persist all these years partly through his inability or unwillingness to see it and partly through her mistaken willingness to remain convinced that the flame was precisely what she needed to survive. Art: “Jacqueline with Flowers” Pablo Picasso #art #Artwork

She balked…

Photo: “Lovers Beneath a Streetlight, Paris” Brassaï (Gyula Halász) #art #Artwork #photography #Prose #Artist

“What is Eternity?”

“What is eternity?” she asked. “Here, take a look, as far as the crow flies.” “Where?” “Straight ahead. That’s eternity.” “How so?” “Just keep looking, far and wide, but without searching.” “How does that work?” “Just stare into the offing, without guile or expectation, and eternity will settle right here, in the moment, encapsulated in the breadth of your very gaze.” “And what happens when I find it?” “It will find you.” Art: “Near Sydenham Hill” Camille Pissarro #