What comes after Post-Modernism?
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Unsharpened Pencils – an essay by P Chatelain
UNSHARPENED PENCILS – by Phillipe Chatelain For the longest I never wrote in pencil. It seemed rustic and was reminiscent of the naivety of third grade.
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“I miss you to death.”
“I miss you to death.” I wanted to say this out loud and have something become of it. But I couldn’t because I knew nothing would. I could spell it out, arrange all the words on a page or on a computer screen and let them live there, and that’s where they’d stay; right where…
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Hat in Hand: an Observation by M. Pitter
(An observation during the afternoon of the 30th of April, 2012) I had to take a break. Pen down, seat back, twist out… The elevator lulled me down twelve floors. After a sigh in the machinery, the doors opened to a painting: an ostentatious, expressionistic-frenzied phenomenon involving an assortment of blue squares. Then through revolving…
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She has a pretty face…by G. Mramor
She has a pretty face, and she wears her hat backwards far back, soft brunette streams down the sides of her face, a pesky strand pushed back as she counts money, she smiles a good bye and says hello, an order and more money she counts and returns three dimes to a smiling man, she…
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OBJECT OF THE CITY – Poem by J.Gawrych
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Taking Shots Alone – Poems by P Chatelain
Author’s note: This is an attempt at documenting silent musings oft-ignored. Please consume responsibly. 1 let’s chill out, light a cigarette in the sun, watching the smoke take shapes.
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Mine – Poem by T Wiley
Mine by Tom Wiley
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Murder She Wrote by L. Mardirossian
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What’s on your mind? – Poem by J. Gawrych
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Orphans…by G. Mramor
I felt these ragamuffins were orphans, so how their clothes hung dirty on their dirty flesh, so how their lives hung dirty into the grime and grunge of what their hands wrought, so how gentle and angelic they seemed. A whole new race of artists are they and from out of the earth they came,…
Do you create?
