Anger, sadness, frustration, all threatening the joy of creation. Standing on the mountain top, thinking I can fly. Just thinking, not knowing, not caring to know if I can, or how far below lies the valley.
Flash Fiction Fridays
Pages
Tags
- A Death in The Family
- At Swim Two Birds
- Barthes
- BASS
- Black Swan Green
- Blindness
- BLOGGING
- Borges
- Calvino
- Clockwork Orange
- Confrontation
- Consolation of Philosophy
- Cormac McCarthy
- DeLillo
- EDUCATION
- Faulkner
- Flatland
- Geronimo Sandoval
- Glimmer Train
- Henderson The Rain King
- if on a winter's night a traveler
- Ishiguro
- Jamestown
- Kundera
- Life of Pi
- LITERATURE
- Margaret Atwood
- Marquez
- Master and Margarita
- Munro
- Murakami
- Peter Taylor
- Plato
- Ploughshares
- POETRY
- provinces of night
- REALITY
- St. Augustine
- Steinbeck
- Suttree
- The Unbearable Lightness of Being
- Tropic of Cancer
- Updike
- William Gay
- WRITING
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"I will breakfast from the cupboard where uneaten dreams are kept"
Categories
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"I foresee the successful future of a very mediocre society."
Archives
EDUCATION
LITERATURE
NEW MEDIA
Wordpress
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Hey, babe.
Didja ever read Hitchhiker’s? Remember, “The art of flying is learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss…”
}:)
I could do that, I betcha.