“No.”
Category Archives: Murklins
Stumbling in the dark
Contrary to Blessed
Tongues bit in times of conflict allowing the conflict to inflict its suspects. Rather than undoing the mess, idle acts sit by neither hot nor cold. No other idol before me, don’t worry there’s no connection between
Fictional Memoirs: You Universal
You want what you don’t have. Your exaggerated perception of others feeds your pity party. Although meant to uplift and brighten your mood, thinking about it makes you envy their every move. Life on the west coast makes you “ooo” and life on the east coast makes you “awe.” You compare yourself to others and
Sorry, You’re At The Wrong College
You’ve made great time. Just under 4 hours and You’ve gone from St. Louis to Branson. You nearly dozed off while driving but
Joseph: Stalking Myself
Joseph awoke promptly at 6:45am. His face scrunched as his right side rolled underneath him. He turned his face into the pillow and tried to position himself so that he could still breath while putting the majority of his face into the teal faded pillow case. It was one of
Fictional Memoirs: Selling Hope
How does one perceive goodness from the mundane? They sell it. The Greatest Salesman in the world once spent 11 months trying to sell one carpet. The same single carpet. Why? Why would the Greatest Salesman in the world spend rigorous hours for one sale?
Everyone told him that
Fictional Memoirs: The God of a Moralist
I unite generations and disappear when the consequences become clear. I promote peace and love justified through forced moments of upset tears. I prey on the fundamentals and open lives to ideas of service. Through me kings have
Fictional Memoirs: You
When you fail, that is not the end. When you lose, that is not the end. When You pass away, that is not the end . . .
Fictional Memoirs: She
She moves in her own way. A drift to astray and sometimes near when she needs air. Her feet hurt from walking all day. Her dark brown eyes wonder from the green lake on her left past the thin white and grey leopard print trees onto the rugged path in front and behind her. Though looking “up ahead” she imagines
Fictional Memoirs: He
Style is everything. A balled up receipt pressed on his thigh and made a small indention in his left pocket. Adjusting in the carpeted seat, he pulled out his key. The teal green 98 Honda Civic rumbled as he turned the slightly bent key for the third time. He had been utilizing the copy since he lost the first set.
Assorted Virtues 