Prose
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- Written by: Vangoman/ Dan Van Fleet
- Category: Prose
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Retort to Gen Y, story by John Winn
I want to begin by saying that this article is in no way disputing John Wi article “Racing to the bottom”. It’s merely a different perspective from a son of a father raised in the Depression Era. A different slant stimulated by John’s article.
Baking a cake:
Read more: Retort to Gen X. Baking a Cake
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- Written by: grunfruaorshell
- Category: Prose
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Damn, I just feel small. You know, that kind of place you go and stick to the corner. It's your salvation and your curse all dipped into honey. That's who I am right now. I am counting the floor boards trying to hide my dirty barefeet. And I don't even understand how I got here. I mean, you were telling that story about the dog and we were laughing. It was sunny. It was Wednesday. You had me in the waves. And then it just wasn't anymore. I want to get back there by following my empty sweet tea glass down the path. But that's the funny thing about a memory. It has to be past to become one. I just seem to be picking up on it more quickly than I use to.
Read more: Tonight or This Morning
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- Written by: grunfruaorshell
- Category: Prose
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Food is complicated. America is complicated. Everything is complicated. There is no doubt about that. I have to co-parent with a man who is different politically and theologically than me. There have been several rather heated discussions about gender roles and how to fix the government. My views are usually "not quite right", which is a passive way of stating I'm wrong.
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- Written by: Vangoman/ Dan Van Fleet
- Category: Prose
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The knowledge contained in this document is the rough textures of a life I’ve chosen, the sorrowful scars of a soul exposed, rain that poured down into the brain has been mixed with the pain in my heart creating the emergence of ecstasy while simultaneously toppling my regrets. The colorful crayons of memories blend feelings of my life with fields of tornados sweeping through all my past events.
I don't put my heart into anything and I don't know if I ever have. My mother thinks she has the choice to hang up the phone. She is an ostrich. She likes to stick her head in the sand and live in pure contentment, no matter the sand in her eyes, ears, nose and mouth. It makes perfect sense! Don't YOU get it? Rigid rules. Dictator dogmas. Enormous elephant existing, I think, existentially.
