Monthly Archives: January 2014

Snowy campus


Snowy campus

The snow happened to attack me everytime I exited a building. Little did I know, snow was the best part of the soon to freeze my lungs -30 degree weather.


Handle me with care


Please handle me with care

You should worry how I’ll fare

Trapped inside this place

This globe


You could drop me

Then, there would

Surely be a rupture

Or a puncture

Within me


The glass can

Offer a reflection

Or a cut

If not handled properly


My dear, little, friend

Don’t drop me

I’m trapped

I can see out


But you act as if

You can’t see within

This glass globe

I’m in 

Vivid Oscurity Portion, español está abajo




               Thoughts enter and leave. Thoughts were something I feared. I feared myself and in the most organic way feasible.

         Antigone Lynn Johnson feared herself. She wanted to pour a dark, obscure pint of ink all over the page of her thoughts. Yes, she would allow herself to at first consume herself in those thoughts. The page was blank, until unorganized thoughts were scattered and scribbled upon the white surface. The pure surface became cluttered. Did she know what to do? She thought she knew what was best for the world’s reality, but it would be a cold day in hell before she accepted the responsibility over her little page.

         It’s quite an ironic thought to think. When one’s page in life is so futile in comparison to the endless stacks of uneven pages in the book of humanity, why would I tackle the large instead of the small?  Oh, don’t you doubt the irony that abounded! She crumbled her little page. She tossed it in the waste bin. She took it out. She glanced at it. She took her phlegm clogging her throat and spit it in the page. It’s gooey texture separated, when she reopened it.

         Antigone Lynn Johnson did just what she intended. She poured that black ink all over that gooey, scribbled on page. She poured it, until its black existence seeped down the sides and coated her hands. Desperately, she took her hands and smeared them across the grass, the bark, submersed them in the creek, but to no avail the ink remained. It coated everything she touched, because she allowed the ink of her ink to consume her life, to try to blotch out my thoughts, underneath the ink poisoned me. It made green frogs, once healthy bubble up from the depths of the water I drank from. Each day, the drops consumed her. I would remove her hair. Across her face, a permanent smudge swept across my forehead. I would ignore it, until one day.

         She was awakened and looked into water so clear and mirror-like. We shall call this water the mind of Sr. Miyagi. I trembled at the sight, but he drowned her. She forced her to look at her reflection tainted with the blank egotistical ink. He plunged my head under water.  She would arise gasping for air; afraid for my existence, afraid I would vanish. I fought him, despite her sight of the reflection. Gradually, she worked with her and decided to go with the current of this fluid-like being she called my teacher.

         The ink faded. Sometimes, my ego surfaces after many sunny days. It’s an interesting to think each day the sunrises of how it fades into the background of everything surrounding me. The more it fades into the background the less I taint the reality around me. My hands are my hands. My prints are invisible, yet on some level they still exist in the universe surrounding me. 


Versión en Español: 

La tinta disminuía. Es interesante pensar cada día el sol se despierta y disemine en el fondo de mi ambiente alrededor mí. Lo más que disemine en mi fondo, lo menos contamino mi realidad. Mis manos son mis manos. Mis huellas no son visibles, pero aún en algún nivel ellos existen en este universo de lo que pertenezco. 

                  Pensamientos entran y salen. Los temía. Temía mí mismo en la manera más orgánica. Antigone Lynn Johnson temía sí mismo. Quería poner una pinta de una tinta oscura sobre su página de sus pensamientos. Sí, podía permitirse a consumir sí mismo en estos pensamientos. La página era blanca, hasta el punto de sus pensamientos desorganizados eran garabatos sobre el superficie. El superficie puro cambia a ser desordenados. ¿Ha sabido que hacer? Pensaba que sabía exactamente lo mejor para la realidad del mundo, pero el día infierno sería frío, es el día que acepta la responsabilidad de su paginita.

         Es muy irónico que la página de una persona en su vida puede parecer más grande que todas las páginas en el libro de humanidad. ¿Por qué voy a teclear el grande en vez del pequeño? OH, no lo dudes que el ironía existe. Ella destruyó su página. Lo tiró en la basura. Lo sacó del tacho de basura. Lo miró. Sacó el flema de su garganta seca. Escupí el flema sobre la página. Su textura pegajosa forma entre las arrugas del papel cuando ella lo abrió.


         Antigone Lynn Johnson hizo que intentó. Puso la tinta negra sobre la página pegajosa y garabateada hasta la tinta corría afuera de los bordes y cubrían sus manos. Desaceradamente, puso sus manos sobre el césped, las sumergía, pero la tinta quedaba sobre sus dedos. Tocaba las cosas en su ambiente y todo cambiaba a ser negro. La tinta existía y dominaba su mundo porque ella permitía la tinta a consumir su vida, para sacar sus pensamientos, bajo la tinta en el agua. Las ranas verdes, en algún punto nada en este agua que yo bebía. Cada día, las gotas le consumía. Sacada su pelo de mi cara. A través su cara, una mancha permanente existía sobre mi cara. Trataba de ignorarlo hasta un día.

         Ha despierta y miró la agua tan claro como un espejo. Vamos a llamar esta agua: La mente de Sr. Miyagi. Temblaba a la vista, pero él le ahogó. Le hizo mirar su reflexión egotista con la polución de la tinta.  Miyagi ahogó mi cabeza bajo el agua. Ella subió rezando para agua; temía por mi existencia, temía que no iba a existir nunca más.


         Yo le peleaba, aunque veía la vista de la reflexión. Lentamente, ella trabajaba con ella y decidió a ir con la fluidez de este Maestro.




“I never heard of the Book of Genesis,” said the Hare, “but what does dominion mean? Does this Book of Genesis say that it means the right to torment that which is weaker than the tormentor?”,

“Who hath suffered most? Let that one first taste of peace.”

The Mahatma and the Hare, Henry Rider Haggard

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Cover “Vivid Obscurity”


My wonderful friend made my first professional book cover. Mi amigo increíble me hizo mi primera portada profesional.

A little inspiration for the novel: “My bent is fixed, I tell thee, not for hatred, but for love.
Creon: “Go, then below. And if thou most have love, Love those thou find’st there. While I live, at least, A woman shall not rule. “-Antigone, Sophocles

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