Call Me

    It was the shrill sound of a midi ringtone that awoke the young man from his nap on the park bench. At its peel his eyes flew open and his ears instinctively acted as radars to determine its location. He leaned over, surprised to find the phone face down on the ground.

Deathday Club - part 2

There’s a confidence fueled swagger that you only see on actors on the big screen. The one that says, “I can’t die, sucka.” And it’s true. The character can’t die in the film. But actors have to dip into their craft for the effect. Mine is second nature, and it’s real.

Deathday Club - part 1

When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: "Death has been swallowed up in victory."

1 Corinthians 15: 54

    I stand in front of a window display. I remember a time when purple was the new lime, which was the new red, which was the new black. Black's made a comeback, with the intent that it won't be replaced soon nor easily. The evidence of which isn’t what I’m immediately looking at, but is rather in the peripherals behind the display. The display itself is instead a vomit of celebratory colors. I almost chuckle at my own wit: if you combined all these hues, combined their voices into one, it would create black.
    Others stream behind me, passing by and buying. Some glance at the exhibition of jubilation. Their eyes completely skip over me. I'm not here. The sun soars west beyond an interruption of clouds while the breeze floats east. The traffic light ignites into green. The river of cars instantly changes its current.
    Be alive, get moving. Everything else is. Not everything that moves is alive, but I'm beginning to think, in a dulled world, the one thing that glitters must be gold. I don't feel like that thing, and I don't feel like moving.