Nonviolence.Brainfry.
A Life in 7 SentencesI was born in San Antonio, Texas, but I never lived there. We lived two blocks from hell on either side, in an old house next to a stop on the Underground Railroad. After a shooting in the back alley, we lived in an unused part of Chestnut Hill Academy, where my father served as head of the art department. The hallways were long and thin, and perfect for a child for two, and in the kitchen I had my own toy oven and a miniaturized broom. The days in this home were the last I spent as a woman with domestic interests—when we moved to the house we’ve lived in ever since, my attitude changed. The house was and still is unfinished, and IA Life in 7 Sentences
no frickin clue...sought here wrought vainly to separate each ghost But floating undaunted ember borrow his nepenthe air never While the thing criedno frickin clue...
WhirrFor a moment I’ve been sitting in the quiet, listening to the hums and clicks of old computer systems running, turning turning sounds that translate roughly to “I am one of so many mass produced machines, sold for cheap to idiots.” The screen before me is framed in rough, gray-black plastic, silver buttons with arrows and circles adorning its base. The green-lit silver “power” button has been forced into the rough frame, debilitating the user from taking the light out from behind her words. The words are negative space, like taking a knife to a sheet of thick paper and hanging it on the window at night, when a small sWhirr
Ave.I. I am the preacher’s daughter, tall in my Sunday best with a tight braid against my scalp. After a few hours of singing and stomping my heeled feet, I emerge from the store-front church to play no-net basketball with the arrogant boys and my little sister, skinny legs with the white lace socks and pink shoes. I fiddle with my silver cross, but never realize why it is easy to believe in God for one day each week.Ave.
II. I am John with the rooftop deck. (No, it’s not up to code.) I have a long, brown ponytail, two Chihuahu
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'Any reviewer who expresses rage and loathing for a novel is preposterous. He or she is like a person who has put on full armor and attacked a hot fudge sundae.' ~Kurt Vonnegut
~Proud Member of Raider Color Guard~
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'Any reviewer who expresses rage and loathing for a novel is preposterous. He or she is like a person who has put on full armor and attacked a hot fudge sundae.' ~Kurt Vonnegut
~Proud Member of Raider Color Guard~
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