A Mind in Motion

     There are those that flutter to the bright lights of others. They crave their warmth, their bold, wild spirit--and dance around them, no matter the risk to their personal self.      But there are others, those that are a flicker as well, and they flutter to the sparks of internal combustion --not to hover around them, but to merge with them, to experience their consuming existent.      In the end, they either dissolve into something cohesively new, or tear pieces of each other apart until they leave cinders in their wake.       "I am not a moth. I am a flame seeking to dance with other flames..."

     It was a Tickling Sensation that pulled him from the murky depths of slumber.      Just a slight scratching, a tingling against the back of this throat.      Eyes still closed, he tightened the heavy muscles in his chest and cleared his throat, a wet gurgling bubbling up as he did so--hitting the back of his tongue in sticky acidic warmth.      His brow furrowed as a burning sensation quickly followed, up from his mouth as if it was gas, into his nose--forcing him to take air in deeply and exhale it back out in tiny puffs.      It only worsened though, finally encouraging him to open his sleep crusted eyes.      There was nothing worse than trying to bring yourself into consciousness after a chemically induced sleep. The fog in your brain is so thick, and your body is so sluggish and weighted, you get stuck in this lull between being hyper aware of your surrounding and still feeling like...

     There are secrets even the world cannot express but in the merest whispers--haunting truths that carry heartstrings with them across time, space, and the particles between. These unraveling mysteries phantom themselves into our lives--they pass us in the street, sit beside us in the park, or become an integral part of our being.      They are The Drifters , people who have been lost to the spell of existing in the folds of reality.      You know them, have felt the hair rise on your arms in their presence, breathed in their unnatural air with puzzlement and fascination--and you have loved them and lost them.      We call them lovers, mothers, brothers, sisters, fathers, children and strangers. Their eyes sparkle, their smiles beam, and their hearts soar with such awe that we firmly believe they should be sailing in the skies on strong feathered wings than planted firmly on soil with rooted trees. It is no wonder ...

    The trickles fell slowly, Crimson Sins against porcelain perfection, as they burned tracks past taunt muscles--past rippling tendons--past pulsing nerves, to finally fall free of flexing fingertips into worn porous rock beneath the madness that born them. Each splatter echoed like wretched screams in the silence of the deeply buried cave. No creature, no being, not even the sky could hear her ramblings.      Words bubbled past soft lips like songs spouting out of a child's music box, but they held no rhythm, their jumbled refrains jumping from one tempo to the next with such fevered need that they sparked out like dying fireflies in the suffocating darkness.     She was An Open Wound to the world, her bright wide eyes shimmering with the colors of creation as they sought sight beyond the haunting visions that festered inside of her. She seeped with emotions, their perspiring desires soaking past ornate clothes wrapped like delicate bandages ar...

     He settled on the stone, his crinkled eyes sweeping over the faces gathered around him as he gripped the staff with the gleaming stone perched atop it warily in his hands. It all felt different--like he was suddenly alone, separated from them--and his shoulders curled a bit up and forward as if the sensation had weight and he wished to protect himself. Their stares no longer regarded him as father, grandfather, brother, ally or even enemy. No, they looked at him as something else now--something undefined but necessary.      He did not know what to expect of them and, he suppose in turn, they did not know the same of him as well.      This was all so...well, he had no comparison.      Perhaps, he thought, this was where they should begin.      Lifting his chin up, drawing their attention towards his face, he gestured to the vast plains and jungles around them--his hand slightly cupped to be clear he was d...

     The wood beneath her heeled feet thumped with the beat of the bass as she weaved her way along the far wall between the bodies hugging its graffiti framework and the masses gyrating against one another on the dance floor. The cocktail of scents that drifted from each glistening skin was driving her mad, her nostrils flaring in hunger as her mouth watered and her tongue kept scraping against her teeth. Golden irises flickered over the sea of swaying limbs, the blood pumping in their veins and the pheromones being expelled like pollen in a field of mixed flowers, tugged on threads deep in her belly like magnetic points driven by instinct to one another. She wanted to taste them, to lick the sweat and honey from their bodies, to bring them bucking and writhing against her in ecstasy.      But there was one--so sweet, so spicy, so unlike them--only one, she wanted the most.      In the Shadows of Twilight streaming into the warehouse, acr...

     So I sat watching tv a bit in my free time this weekend, taking in the very few currently airing shows that I like, as well as indulging in ones I have loved in the past. In doing so, I have come to see a shift in storytelling that I'm not fond of--and the more I see of it the less I understand it. There may be a proper term for it floating out there that I haven't seen or heard of yet, but in my little writer world, I'm calling it The Crowded Effect.      I know you have seen it.      I've even heard some of you complaining about it.      I just haven't seen the destructiveness of it until now.      Let's take your favorite show all the way back to season one. You remember that, don't you? The awesome intro to the world of characters A+B+C+whoever else that is the core of the show? The people who will be with us in the beginning, and though not all may make it, the one at the very least who will be ...