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Desert Graffiti

Messages from the desert. Monday, September 22, 2014. The Product of an Urge Followed at Long Last. A lot has happened this year. Without going into much incriminating detail, I have to say that I am quite a different person now then 6 months ago. I may be addicted to change, I may just be a human being. Either way, I’ve learned about choices and sacrifice and what that feels like and means. I don’t know. Why do people breathe in and out? Sunday, December 1, 2013. And I stayed there all day. And the live...

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Desert Graffiti | desertgraffiti.blogspot.com Reviews

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Messages from the desert. Monday, September 22, 2014. The Product of an Urge Followed at Long Last. A lot has happened this year. Without going into much incriminating detail, I have to say that I am quite a different person now then 6 months ago. I may be addicted to change, I may just be a human being. Either way, I’ve learned about choices and sacrifice and what that feels like and means. I don’t know. Why do people breathe in and out? Sunday, December 1, 2013. And I stayed there all day. And the live...

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9 and smoked cigarrettes

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Desert Graffiti | desertgraffiti.blogspot.com Reviews

https://desertgraffiti.blogspot.com

Messages from the desert. Monday, September 22, 2014. The Product of an Urge Followed at Long Last. A lot has happened this year. Without going into much incriminating detail, I have to say that I am quite a different person now then 6 months ago. I may be addicted to change, I may just be a human being. Either way, I’ve learned about choices and sacrifice and what that feels like and means. I don’t know. Why do people breathe in and out? Sunday, December 1, 2013. And I stayed there all day. And the live...

INTERNAL PAGES

desertgraffiti.blogspot.com

1

Desert Graffiti: December 2012

http://www.desertgraffiti.blogspot.com/2012_12_01_archive.html

A gathering place for poets, painters, storytellers, savants and scoundrels. Friday, December 7, 2012. Here's My Advice by Christina Osborn. Tuesday, December 4, 2012. Wait 'Til I Forget by Christina Osborn. Wait until I forget. The sound of the wind in the fruit trees. Before you take me home. I want them to loom in my memory while I’m out on my own. I’ll remember that they’re better than the others I encounter. Better by the year and eventually those others will disappear. You’ve stayed the same.

2

Desert Graffiti: Beating Life by Marianne Hales Harding

http://www.desertgraffiti.blogspot.com/2013/05/beating-life-by-marianne-hales-harding.html

A gathering place for poets, painters, storytellers, savants and scoundrels. Monday, May 13, 2013. Beating Life by Marianne Hales Harding. When you’ve alphabetized the books on your shelf, Life pulls them all out into a pile on the floor. When you’re busy making dinner, Life steals the permanent marker and draws on the kitchen table. When you’ve put away the vacuum cleaner, Life dumps cereal on the carpet and holds a dance competition. Why Life doesn’t give you a freaking break. Because, like parents of ...

3

Desert Graffiti: The One True Church by Michael Jurgensmeier

http://www.desertgraffiti.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-one-true-church-by-michael.html

A gathering place for poets, painters, storytellers, savants and scoundrels. Monday, May 13, 2013. The One True Church by Michael Jurgensmeier. Basic Guidelines for Missionaries of The One True Church. Welcome to the Mission Training Center and congratulations on your decision to help spread the truth of our prophet’s plan for salvation to all the Godless heathens of the earth! So let’s get started mmmkay! Our required missionary dress code here at the One True Church has been referred to by Vogue Zealot.

4

Desert Graffiti: December 2013

http://www.desertgraffiti.blogspot.com/2013_12_01_archive.html

A gathering place for poets, painters, storytellers, savants and scoundrels. Sunday, December 1, 2013. The Beach (Poem for Ali) by Christina Osborn. Someone dropped me off by the ferris wheel. And I stayed there all day. Until a policeman told me,. We have help for people like you.". So I cleared off the boardwalk. And sat with an old clown. With feathers and beads. And a circus of teenagers. All drinking in broad daylight. We talked over the waves. The opium haze of 75 degrees. And rim to rim sunlight.

5

Desert Graffiti: Winter 1966 by Christina Osborn

http://www.desertgraffiti.blogspot.com/2013/09/winter-1966-by-christina-osborn.html

A gathering place for poets, painters, storytellers, savants and scoundrels. Tuesday, September 17, 2013. Winter 1966 by Christina Osborn. I had none of that trap. Only two suits and a notebook. And a splintered toilet bowl. And a rattling whistle. Of the New York street wind. It was everything I wanted. The grease tasted like gravy. And the girls were all geniuses. Cupping their empty hands. I seemed to them kingly. An old world tycoon. A stranger to each at every moment. And I felt my weight.

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Left Adrift, Dust in the Wind | mileswalker89

https://mileswalker89.wordpress.com/2012/07/18/left-adrift-dust-in-the-wind

Eyes Thrust Wide Open. July 18, 2012. Left Adrift, Dust in the Wind. Father, oh Father, where art thou? Went looking for you, lost and without a plan. I climbed a hill one day. Saw to my dismay, the chapel, it was burning. Someone must have forgotten. Left the structure to disarray. Food fresh for the plunder. Hatchet and torch in hands. The house had fallen in. God abandoned, that poor street urchin. Can you blame me for my action? Horrible to see the creature in such pain. Crumple in then die. Fill in ...

mileswalker89.wordpress.com

Into the Pressing Dusk | mileswalker89

https://mileswalker89.wordpress.com/2012/07/18/into-the-pressing-dusk

Eyes Thrust Wide Open. July 18, 2012. Into the Pressing Dusk. You are my ivory tower. Those long straight lines. Carving the length of your backside. Gathering up the little sparks and. Scattered traces of divinity. Filled up, shining in illumination. The landscape much the darker in comparison. I am the quiet poet. Drifting in a haze, still stumbling. I feel the heavy weight of sleep. It hangs low, a heavy coat thrown over my eyebrows. The world is so strange. Tinted amber and growing ever foreboding.

mileswalker89.wordpress.com

Alone in the Valley of Shadows | mileswalker89

https://mileswalker89.wordpress.com/2012/07/26/alone-in-the-valley-of-shadows

Eyes Thrust Wide Open. July 26, 2012. Alone in the Valley of Shadows. Here I am. Thrust up against the cragged edge of this land. Standing on the precipice. A stretching void yawns before me. The possibility of retreat, it crumbles beneath. Crackling in chorus. Little falling stones. Tipping into the mystery. What am I doing here? This boundless search has led me to very edge of infinity. No guarantees. No promise of relief. Nothing to be gained. All lost, can one expect to ever truly see? 8220;What does...

mileswalker89.wordpress.com

Blaj | mileswalker89

https://mileswalker89.wordpress.com/2013/04/17/blaj

Eyes Thrust Wide Open. April 17, 2013. Man is the God figure long forgotten. Right here, right now. But I am not painter. I am not the poet. My eyes hang low from this dreary long haul. Yet. Let’s not forget, this fractured beauty of one held moment. Eyes flabbergasted to be in presence of such magnificence. Still, we must travel the twisted narrow roads. A world is, in incubation. The Writ of God, yet be manifest. This entry was posted on Wednesday, April 17th, 2013 at 1:57 am and posted in Uncategorized.

mileswalker89.wordpress.com

“What does it mean to write” | mileswalker89

https://mileswalker89.wordpress.com/2012/07/21/what-does-it-mean-to-write

Eyes Thrust Wide Open. July 21, 2012. 8220;What does it mean to write”. 8220;What does it mean to write,” I ask. To make words, sculpting together the shapes of things. Crafted syllables, little doves let loose and floating adrift. Winds of syntax and shared meanings. By what means are words written. By what stem, which branch and leaves, is there a root to this thing? The sheets of paper, the scrawling pen. Who then is the master? A trembling hand, faithful working flesh. Dying ink upon stale pages.

mileswalker89.wordpress.com

tstucki89 | mileswalker89

https://mileswalker89.wordpress.com/author/tstucki89

Eyes Thrust Wide Open. A writer. A poet. An architect carving the cobblestone of reality. Merely man, doing the best I can. April 17, 2013. Man is the God figure long forgotten. Right here, right now. July 26, 2012. Alone in the Valley of Shadows. Here I am. Thrust up against the cragged edge of this land. Standing on the precipice. A stretching void yawns before me. The possibility of retreat, it crumbles beneath. Crackling in chorus. Little falling stones. Tipping into the mystery. What am I doing here?

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Messages from the desert. Monday, September 22, 2014. The Product of an Urge Followed at Long Last. A lot has happened this year. Without going into much incriminating detail, I have to say that I am quite a different person now then 6 months ago. I may be addicted to change, I may just be a human being. Either way, I’ve learned about choices and sacrifice and what that feels like and means. I don’t know. Why do people breathe in and out? Sunday, December 1, 2013. And I stayed there all day. And the live...

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