Tag Archive: tarot writing challenge

How to be a Bitch

1. Stop caring. Generally, about everything – life, love, family, the internet, this blog post, yourself. Just stop. Emotions are for the weak. 2. Start surfing fashion and beauty blogs. 75% of what… Continue reading

Sparkling Rod

Transmutation – Through whispy air, transform. That one second when the the air feels good as it dampens your cheeks. Exact that ecstacy of the leaves rustling, one leaf blown away, landing gently… Continue reading


It is beyond judgment as I sit in contempt of what I see. The critical rules out the creative; pencil stabbing at the small notebook. It is beyond judgment, sunglasses perched on my… Continue reading

Craft Easy (Or How I Write)

Craft is easy when It comes unnatural Like how a broken mouth Is zipped; or ribbed; or Too full to talk, craft is That lever that pries it Releasing the full power of… Continue reading


Hard, knockings. Ripped-off prices of Men, mingling With the jitters of Occupational hazards And fluids all over Sweat and tears and cum Is a celebration of Itself; alone but not With such company… Continue reading

The Hanged Man

For this play, there is no stage. Or at least, none in its conventional sense. When the audience is led in, they shoud be seated in a jumbled-up pattern. Not even in a… Continue reading

A Dish of Eggrolls

…And then there was this guy, Jared something. No, Jason. Jeremy? Well, it starts with a “J” and that I’m sure of. Anyway, this guy, let’s just say it’s Jared, I’m 80% sure… Continue reading

Weapons of Mass Destruction

You may have picked me up from the gutter Below and dressed me in garlands of gold But to think it strange, you and your manor In lacking need of its mistress to… Continue reading

The Devil

El Diablo. Pious men glide across the hollow floors. Brick-bracks of the padded sandals echo through the high ceilings. They pause momentarily, facing a painting. A painting of a saint, they are not… Continue reading

The Next Project

The backstage doors are locked; at home, the whirling of the electric fan captions the dry euphoria. The towers striked and all, the papers liquidated just so and then – the tiny freeze… Continue reading