Finding a Story at Ayala Avenue
3 comments • Marocharim • March 21, 2009
Thud… the back of my head banged up against the concrete post in my apartment. I was willing to literally bang my head up, give myself a bit of a concussion, accelerate the prospects of dementia, taste my own blood, and perhaps fracture my skull. Anything, just to shake off a really horrible case of [...]
There are things I'm afraid to tell myself. Instead, I choose to reveal them the world. In sickness, in spite, in all unpleasantness, even in disease. I'm a babbler, a ranter, a writer: neither spiteful nor kind, neither rascal or honorable man. Neither hero or vermin.
