A collection of consciousness and the stories that bind us.
The officer said “Watch your head” as he guided me, hand flat upon the point of my skull, into the back seat of the police car. I was so scared I couldn't respond as I slid into the seat. The mesh metal screen separating the front seat from the back told me I was all... Continue Reading →
Linda Gabriel began the Twenty Minute Stories writing group in April of 2017. She polled friends and neighbors in the Beechwood Canyon area of Los Angeles to join, and I was one of the early members. We meet every other Sunday and select prompt words to begin a twenty minute writing session. It’s fantastic how... Continue Reading →
Linda Gabriel began the Twenty Minute Stories writing group in April of 2017. She polled friends and neighbors in the Beechwood Canyon area of Los Angeles to join, and I was one of the early members. We meet every other Sunday and select prompt words to begin a twenty minute writing session. It's fantastic how... Continue Reading →
My natural state lost Doubt clutters my mind Spider webs of energy confuse my brain Anxiety boomerangs, pounding my heart Fear circulates, pulsing my veins I must escape, run Exhaustion paralyzes me I sneak out the front door Freedom refuses to follow I cry out in defeat, despair A brilliant spark alights It is constant... Continue Reading →
“Libra: That which disturbs you interests you. Do you dare look into it? One small dose can start your immunity.” I knew exactly what it was referring to when I read my horoscope in the LA Times today. “Do I dare,” I questioned myself? Well, one would hope. As my avoidance kicks in, I wonder... Continue Reading →
I wasn’t yet versed on the art of posing for a photograph. I must have just been over a year, walking and talking a bit, but no one had the forethought to clue me in on the art. I don’t suppose it was really necessary at that point, but this is the result. My sister,... Continue Reading →
Writing on planes is my favorite venue to express myself. Well, no, now that I think of it, my favorite venue to express myself is at home after a lovely dinner with wine and smoking a touch of weed. The keys just seem to know what I want to say. I’m deep at those times,... Continue Reading →
I didn’t want to start it like this, but sometimes we can’t control how things need to happen. My mother died 33 years ago, when she was 57 and I was 30. She had been an alcoholic most of my life, at least from the time my first major memories began at five. She probably... Continue Reading →
I Am We 