The First Job I Ever Had

The First Job I Ever Had

The very first job I ever had was something I built for myself back in elementary school. I confess that It’s not something I can ever put on my resume. In fact, I was actually threatened with arrest at one point during the height of my business success.

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Creative Writing

Creative Writing

All writing is creative. A writer puts their imagination into everything that they do.

Significance In The Boring

Significance In The Boring

"Pages were ripping away from large staples and splitting themselves into two. It was then that I realized the significance of the used tea bag that was put on display by Prouvost."

The Moon by Camille Elston

Camille Elston, is a friend of mine who recently performed in Lake Elsinore, California at the Live Wired music festival put on by Bradstock. Elston is a sports photographer and a Graphic Designer at Cal Poly Pomona. She's a ridiculously cool musician who sings, plays guitar in genres spanning from Alternative to Pop, Indie and [...]

Beyond the Shock Wave

My heart was pounding so hard that I could feel the echoing vibrations far beyond my chest. My breathing was heavy, my mind was racing, and I couldn’t help but wonder what I had just done. I realized, as I was driving away from the house, that I had no clue as to where I [...]

A Labyrinth of Weathered Book Pages

I find the way humans use language so incredibly amazing and wonderful. The fact that words and symbols take the place of sounds and emotions is daunting if you really think about it. Having a name for something so abstract, or even being able to describe an unnamed entity with a combination of expressive phrases, [...]

Epic Procrastination

The ancient (and untrue) tale of a procrastinator. I sit fumbling through the scribbled pages of my notes, and as I am beginning to highlight the already densely bolded words in my text book, I decided that I should take a break. I started stretching, and as I was walking around the room I noticed [...]

Like Bright Scratches of Paint

I sit here in my room with my hands covered in the dark and dripping ink of my fountain pen, like the bloodied murderous hands of a lunatic. Scrawling of words fall to the page below, like the bright scratches of transferred paint left on a dark-colored sports car, and the words that define us, [...]