COMPLETELY RANDOM

The clouds tonight are really amazing.

I'm laying here and I'm looking at the moon shining through this thin layer of cumulus clouds.

ON BEING ONLINE

This is about being online in our digital age.

RACKS

I wrote this poem over the summer while working in the staff kitchen as a dishwasher at Camp Pigott Boy Scout Camp, in Monroe.

GUEST POST:
WHAT INKHARES IS, AND HOW TO THRIVE THERE AS AN AUTHOR


BY MICHAEL HAASE

Michael Haase is the author of The Madness of Mr. Butler, winner of the Nerdist/Inkshares Space Opera contest and writes for Renderosity Magazine.

ON ZEN AND WAR: THE CONCLUSION

When I joined the United States military in the summer of 2011, it seemingly contradicted every solid foundation of my upbringing.

ON ZEN AND WAR: PART THREE

Zen is this thing where when everything is going right in life, the universe is at peace. But that's not exactly it, is it? Everything is a hard concept to understand, after all.

ON ZEN AND WAR: PART DEUX

I was put into the Catholic Church at a late age, when I was around nine years old, but my sisters were even older. By that extent, we were put into Sunday School as well.

ON ZEN AND WAR: PART ONE

My father was a hippie. A sex-crazed, baby-booming, stateless, transient, hippie. He was like this for a great many years. On the outside, this was all that anyone could see: the hippie with the huge beard that lived in the school-bus and occasionally got free food and drinks from the locals by impersonating Che Guevara.

RE: DO WORDS HAVE POWER?
NOT A COMPREHENSIVE REVIEW OF KRAKEN PODCAST.

As today marks the Tenth Anniversary for Twitter, I thought I'd share something at least semi-Twitter related.

NOTE: THIS IS NOT AN ADVERTISEMENT AND KRAKEN IS TOO FUCKING BROKE TO PAY ME ANYWAYS, HOWEVER, IF ANYONE DOES WANT TO SEND ME MONEY CLICK ON MY CONTACT LINK IN THE MENU. I'M ALSO BROKE AF RIGHT NOW AND COULD REALLY USE IT.

JUST THESE JUST MITES JUST MIGHT... MIGHT JUST BE JUST.

Apathy is the enemy of the republic. The 2016 primary election has become the ultimate authority on all things blunderous in America. And in our inspired states of distress, this republic has become a playground of vicious raptors with an audible malcontent. It’s ugly. It’s bizarre.

LAND

The forrest is a place where a man might go and loose himself. The cascading beauty of the earth flows fourth sometimes - but most often only for those with the eyes to see it, and the ears to hear it, and the will to know it.

AMPERSAND

THE FOLLOWING IS AN EXCERPT 
FROM MY UPCOMING NOVEL: THE SOUTH END.


“Have you ever lied down in the grass on an indian summer’s day, stared up at the trees without leaves, and thought that the branches were scratching at the sky?”

WAITING ON A BOX

In the edge of space, at the edge of time, and at the edge of a small cliff that never ends, a man stands in desperate haze...

ANOTHER NEWSLETTER

My inbox has another newsletter in it.