I'm your typical Portlander in a lot of ways. Queer, cheerfully nihilistic, trying to make a quiet name for myself in a big small town. My writing tends to be creepy and—let's hope—compelling. Beware; and welcome.
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. I’d catch glimpses of her out of the corner of my eye: when I grabbed my keys from the hook in the front hallway, when I brushed my teeth, when I checked my rear-view. At first, I wrote if off—get more sleep, Allison. Stop surviving off cappuccinos and B12 supplements. Our new deal in Buenos Aires had started to pick up steam; I told myself I couldn’t afford to get distracted.
Bandifar looked at the other dragons, grinning from horn to horn. "You'll never guess what I found today," he squealed. Landifar sighed. "Bandifar, it's Xandifar's turn to share. This is the third time this week you've failed to respect the sharing circle, and I think I speak for all of us when I say it really bums all of us out."
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. The streetlights below bloomed from beneath, exactly one-half of them the same violet hue. On February 20, 2020, at exactly 8:20 PM, each and every streetlight went out for exactly two seconds before turning back on—and each and every streetlight shone purple.
These days, it seems that memes serve as my Willy Wonka, guiding me through the whimsical factory of the internet and showing me what musical dreams lie beyond the sizzling veil of the digital screen. As Charlie failed to understand the business espionage implications of an everlasting gobstopper, so too do I scratch my head at Tik Tok; though in a reversal of roles, Charlie had stepped into the puzzling world of the generation before him, whereas I stare in stupefaction at the generation that's come after me. That is, of course, if the roles themselves stay consistent.
Volcanic island Ocean births rock entombs fire By wind, exalted