[+]Aaroneous Monk[+]

rotten traces   and  forgotten places yet  the beauty shines through ***

  Knock, knock, knock knuckles on wood hand in a fist, such a peculiar pose. It’s a kind of cry for help a percussive entreaty “please open ...

  Wandering through life alone in body but con- nected in spirit except when it does not seem even that is the case. What then my friend? **...

Here I stand like a statue hewn from stone. My heart is hard and cold like a gravestone in winter. My eyes are frozen seeing only the sadn...

  I feel like I need to fire up the ol’ karma machine. Too many negatives building up on my ledger. I’ll keep my eye out for opportunities t...

  Over the years I have found that beauty can be a bulwark against despair.   It can take various forms (visual arts, music, literature, etc...

  I have died too many times before  or maybe I have never truly lived.   At times only the Cathedral remains its spires piercing the hea...

  It’s a kind of paradox the world is agitated  like an aggressively  shaken snow globe yet surrounding the  swirling chaos is the  beauty o...

  Writing prompt for Monday, January 23 rd : perhaps my favorite photo of John Lennon that I’ve colorized in the craziest of ways while list...

She sleeps in the quiet of a church,  front and center, under a candle. The Psalms are droning on in a  place just behind her head in th...

  What if we just fly on out of here, my love? This house has bound  us for far too long. I know I can’t follow but time and eternity  will ...

  My teenaged son told me he has a friend who was into “drifting” with his car until it resulted in damaging his vehicle at which point it d...

  They ascend the hill  with hands intertwined, their translucent robes  flapping in a windless void. They sense the presence of a being fro...

  In my dream… It was something I’d heard about and seen play out a time or two in the news, something  utterly terrifying. In these grainy ...

Such exquisite beauty and sadness in the world.   It is the knife that pierces my heart most cleanly,  two sides of one blade.  It may manif...

The drive to and from work on a dreary December Sunday when the world has died or at least gone into a deep slumber. The tall weeds and sle...

  My grandpa loved trains and when I see them on occasion I think of him.  He was a peculiar man, possibly even eccentric.  He spent the las...

  It’s familiar yet alien  with the caring coming through in solid stone. Somewhat like Ray’s  mysterious Martians  hapless to time and  des...

  The diminutive Santa clones had attacked Grandma Dee in the run up to Christmas.   They marched in columns down the alley forming dark par...

January 5th, 2022 STATION ELEVEN is a new post-apocalyptic series on HBO Max based on an award winning SciFi novel of the same name. I have...