Tag: writing
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Well-Worn Path
The spine gives way without a fight,The margins wear a known design;You trace the shadows in the lightWhere younger eyes once read this line. No sudden turn will take you unawares,No tragic twist can steal the day;You climb the same familiar stairsAnd know what each voice has to say. The tea grows cool beside the…
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Officer Eddie Price
A father holding court paperwork,asking for help to find his child.Eddie Price didn’t see a father.He saw an inconveniencestanding in the open air.So he pulled the chemical spray.He threw the punch.He took a desperate man downwhose only crime was demanding help.Strip away the badge,strip away the gun,and all that remainsis a bully hiding behind power.
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The Spectacle of State-Sanctioned Death
I sat down today to write a poem about the latest news: the Pentagon, under Pete Hegseth, plans to livestream an execution. I couldn’t write it. The words felt too small, too quiet for something so brazenly grotesque. If a country insists on retaining something as fundamentally barbaric as the death penalty, it should, at…
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Brownwater Investments October 2026 Press Release
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE BROWNWATER CAPITAL CLARIFIES POSITION ON RECENT HUMAN ASSET EXPULSION RUMORS ZUG, SWITZERLAND (October 8, 2026) – Brownwater Capital AG today issued a formal statement addressing recent market speculation regarding high-volume workforce reductions across its operational entities. The firm firmly rejects the narrative that it is undergoing “mass layoffs,” describing the recent events…
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Womb Service
They love youwhen you’re quiet.When you’re curled.When you’re theory.When you’re womb-shaped and wordlessand not asking for breakfast. They love youin bumper sticker font.In ultrasound grayscale.In the sermon, the slogan,the sanctified soundbite. But once you breathe?Once you cry?Once you need shoes,a school, a sandwich,a mother who isn’t working three jobsto prove you deserve to exist? Suddenly,you’re…
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The Pull
The phone call that breaks a parent’s spirit rarely starts with a scream; it starts with a screen sliding open, a back door left a crack, a pair of light up trainers left like shedding skin on the welcome mat. You don’t know fear until you know the pull. Not a gentle tug, not a…
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Per My last
Another email hits the stack,another knife inside your back.You fake a smile, type “Per my last,”and watch your prime go fading, fast.
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Cellar
The street sweeper uses a broom made of dried lavender,brushing away the heavy shadows of the afternoon.A fox with a brass lantern tied to his tail leads us to the cellar,where jars of preserved starlight line the wooden shelves.We pour two cups of warm dandelion broth,and watch the rain fall upward into the dark.
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A Real Man for a Rendered Lady: On the Love Between Boomers and AI Girlies on Instagram
It is a bizarre and fascinating experience to stumble into the comment section of an Instagram AI thirst trap, where the reality gap seems to vanish entirely for a specific demographic. The formula is almost always the same: a hyper-polished, rendered image of an impossibly symmetrical woman, paired with a manipulative caption along the lines…