The Visual Experience

A few days ago, I was having dinner with my family. My brother was staring pensively into his plate of pasta, and, after some time, said inquisitively: “I wish salt could be red so I could know whether or not I’ve added enough of it.” Imagine how convenient that would be, always having visual evidence…

The Misfortune of Growing Up

I recently came across one of my old diaries from when I was nine years old, and while reading my accounts of a vacation to Mexico, I concluded that children aren’t much different from adults. Although the diary dated back to almost a decade ago (it’s a miracle that I still have it), reading my…

Dear God, if there is one

Prompt: Music Monday on the Literati Mafia; the song Sea Dragon along with the featured image Dear God, if there is one, I am in church now, thinking. Sitting in the same pew I sit at everyday of my life, watching the predictable procession of Easter and Christmas services, funerals and weddings: the same old cycle…

The Concept of Time

Time is a powerful force that controls our existence. Every moment in which we are alive and conscious has been given a numerical label. The cycles of human behavior have been etched by the concept of time: when we sleep and wake, when we eat, when we celebrate birthdays and other anniversaries, how we define…

The Cure for Complacency

Complacency is the hardest disease to cure. It is a beast that lives within all of us. It keeps us blind, sedated with false promises, and much easier to control. It is so much easier to live a complacent life, so much easier not to ask the big questions, so much easier not to wonder…

Omertà 3

A Literati Mafia Collaboration: Part III Silence is seen as a treacherous doubled-edged sword in my tumultuous mind. I never knew what silence meant in my daily life. Since a little girl, I have watched my family delve into anger and confusion over money and disagreement. I have seen people stab me in the back…

Omertà 2

A Literati Mafia Collaboration: Part II there was a time when it would settle, a threadbare mantle covering all the things that buzzed and hummed inside, demanding stillness. but now it is the rasp of snoring children, the score of tires on asphalt, the whisper of birch leaves. it does not cover so much as…