They found Bill in the graveyard,
Dancing a jig,
With a cadaver,
It had secrets to impart,
Of buried treasure,
And deals to be struck,
If he sold his worldly goods,
And fed the motor on which,
The city ran,
Bill was happy,
Full of dollars,
And more expensive stuff,
He spent the money,
On a printing press,
And hoped for the best,
The last anyone saw of Bill,
He was huddled in a doorway,
With a smart phone,
And a beard,
Lining up fruit,
And gold bars,
For his latest venture,
One the gambler,
Would be the best yet.
No longer in glorious monochrome,
Featuring surround sound,
And guest appearances,
From cradle to grave,
Including bit parts,
As the journey’s rules,
Before the credits roll,
And the temporary visitor,
A befuddled audience of one,
With few answers,
Leaves the house.
Mainstream comic creator Irene Strychalski recently made the jump to crowdfunding with chapter one of FIENDISH, a fantasy story that combines elements of seinen manga and European fantasy comics. Written and illustrated by Strychalski (Deadpool Family), FIENDISH is inspired by pagan traditions and culture. Here’s the official pitch taken from the FIENDISH Indiegogo campaign page: […]Pagan Demons Come to Life in Irene Strychalski’s “FIENDISH” (Crowdfunding Spotlight) — The Splintering
Originally posted on Vermont Folk Troth: Human well-being is a singular edge that as a society we seek to promote. […] the high costs of the minimum well-being that we can enjoy today is well-being stolen from future generations. The culture of extreme consumerism brings with it extreme waste and with it the death of…Extreme Consumerism: Swimming in Trash — NSTM Planet — The Most Revolutionary Act
the gravel in my neck keeps me straightforward#NaPoWriMo 2021 Day 3 : “DustLand” — Thistle Thoughts
So close to the edge last night,
I’m still suffering from vertigo.
Amazing how little neurons in your mind,
Can persuade you that everything
you have ever done…
Has been trite.
It tells you in snivelling stuttering words,
That your children were let down by you,
That your love amounts to a death sentence,
That you have nothing further to offer the world,
And you don’t believe it!
But you do in the underworld
of your sub-conscience…
In those dark recesses
you keep locked up.
So secret is the desire to believe,
That all is pointless,
That you can hear it whispered,
Even through the praise.
I know this bedfellow,
we’ve tangled many times,
but I do not lose faith,
because I have known love,
and nothing is better than that!
Dale M 2021
This artists work I got my eyes on recently on instagram…I got fascinated in his skills with making the metal come so “alive”.
He tells me that english is not a language that he is one hundred procent confident with and that I can change errors of his…and honestly, there are some. But I don´t see them as a problem, I understand what he means. So, I will not change anything, I want it to be his own words. So it is not to make anything look funny that I will not (if it is not obvious spelling mistakes) tamper with the answers. Also, I am not always that skilled in language either…
Me: Hello mr. Boiteau! Please tell me a little about yourself, where do you live and work for example?
Boitheau: Hello , my name is Thierry Boiteau , I’m 48 , maried, with 2 children . I…
View original post 645 more words
A dead man’s hand opens,
And diamonds fall from his grasp,
The compressed residue of years,
Dug from a a bomb sites blast,
Where sweat and toil,
And constant hunger,
Hang on a gunman’s nod,
His son wanted marbles for his birthday,
But all he got was rock.
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