The Game’s fluorescent open sign always flickering across the screen, beckoning any off-hour hungry nomads. Stragglers are just suckers for the Game.Read More
Semantic satiation. I think it’s come to that. And I’m not talking about the boys and their antics of sanitation if you thought I misspoke.Read More
Trash art is a telling illustration of the waste the boys leave behind; the trash thrown to the side almost too overwhelming to be accidental.Read More
Miller finds beauty, but mostly convenience, in the same empty couch where I can never un-see the years of piled unsanitary abuse.Read More
Do not be fooled by the boys’ addiction to working out and their far from modest comments directed at their muscle growths.Read More
I am a gnome lover and pun dabbler. I believe the patternless vibrations of society somehow have rhythm. I find meaning in the graffiti-splattered abandoned corners of our universe. Amongst the paint-chipped walls defining our modern day rebellious predilection. A vibrantly decorative yet remarkably raw form of expression. A magical paradox.
And it is in these overlooked, back-alleyways that I found my first gnome.
Well, first good gnomen at least.
Given that I am a proud self-proclaimed garden enthusiast and avid tree-listener, I find this fact almost ironic. But only almost. It is the subconscious present tense, colored with my urban predisposition and the artificial clutter of our world, that brought me to that very skreet, where the literal signs align with metaphorical ones.
Two roads diverged on that sunny day. I took the one less traveled.
And so it goes, the gnome girl (although then, just girl) wandered. Was on her way. Walked with purpose and without bounds. Did not know where she was going. Reckoned she might. The universe will be my guide, she thought. But of course, in the end, it was always the gnomes.