Landon Jones
Bio
Exploring existence through writing, art, and existing. Writer of fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. Friend of the inner child. Interrogator of the inner sheep. I stop to smell the flowers (and talk to them too).
art @landonmakesthings
Stories (25/0)
Butoh
Laying on the hardened living room carpet that I love so much, the one that often catches the afternoon sun, I began to wake up from my slumber. It was afternoon and there was no sunshine this day, but still I could feel the warmth radiating under me like the sun had baked itself into this patch of house. The way my body sank into this spot, slightly indented from my daily naps, felt warm and complete.
By Landon Jones2 years ago in Fiction
Open Fields
I’m sitting on the bus and trying to write and it’s very distracting. The man next to me keeps putting his hands on his head, circling his elbows, and wafting the fumes from his underarms in my direction, and all that my body and mind are able to register is the one million dead bacteria entering my nostrils. It smells like balls that are dead. Dead! And I am reminded that death is, in fact, all around us. Yes, life is abundant as well, but we mustn’t forget the death. These two sisters dance together in the air we breathe and the food we eat, and please notice how I say sisters. They might even be conjoined twins; inseparable.
By Landon Jones2 years ago in Humans
I Want a Door
I sat in the living room beside two of the family cats and looked out the large bay window. It was late Saturday morning and I had already completed two thirds of my Saturday routine. I had already done my Saturday cry (you know, to cleanse), and had just finished my Saturday morning cartoons. And so it was now time for the newest of my Saturday routines: staring blankly out the window for no less than twenty minutes.
By Landon Jones2 years ago in Fiction
Mushy Steamed Vegetables and the End of the World
The world has ended, but only those of us past a certain age know that this has happened, for we knew life on Earth before the end. We knew it before “the new beginning”, this beginning that is no beginning at all, but an ending that goes on indefinitely. And so those born after this certain point only know life at the end of the world, and yet they call it the new beginning. But it’s not their fault. It’s what the mirror tells us, after all.
By Landon Jones3 years ago in Humans