only time will tell, cobra. both you, and thoreau critics of his era share a lack of foresight as a commonality. not knocking you for it, just digesting your narrow vantage with a logician's gut.

that's what they said about Henry Thoreau.

"an art project, huh?" he asked with a cocky grin stretching beneath his dark sunglasses, "that's what you think?". he laughed dismissively, placed a wooden toothpick at the corner of his mouth, and very casually walked away.

god damn it....sorry.

i'm unbelievably rich, to a point of concern.

i stared into the dizzying sequence of numbers - digits, commas, decimals...more digits and numbers. it was overwhelming. i let out a muted chuckle of disbelief and collapsed onto the marble floor. shaking my head with wide-eyed emotion, i handed my bank statement back to the bank teller from on my back. "have you…

the cream toned leather upholstery in the coupe cabin is smoother than a buttered jazznote, softly toning with the gentle crash of a fiji beach coolly lit by moonlight. i lightly brushed the passenger seat's headrest with the back of my hand, like one would do to a lover's cheek, and spoke aloud, "these motherfuckers…

*kilos, baby...the name is Kilos.

the whiskey hung strong on his breath, and in his raspy voice. steely four day old whiskers protruded from a roughly carved jaw. his face seemed to be frozen in a perpetual squint, that hinted at a lifetime of fighting the sun. the wind tossed his worn-out hair around atop his head. i found myself in my mind, trying…

i knelt beside the black granite headstone, and picked at the twigs and grass while meditating on a handful of memories. the sound of summer insects surrounded the cemetery in the thick heat of the day. i studied the deep etching in the smooth face of the stone, spelling her name out in generic block lettering. i…

my apologies, strangelove. my command of the english tongue is beyond sufficient. posting at a frequency such as mine is bound to see a mistake or two shake through. but thank you for your input, and i'll be more thorough with editing henceforth.

if you're playing squash over lunch, and then re-hydrating with cocaine and martinis before heading back to the office, then you probably can appreciate my words. and if you're lunch does not resemble that at all, my words may leave you with an acidic salty texture in your mouth.

at a glance he looked like any other wall street hopeful. too young to be truly wealthy, and too well dressed to be a rookie, but still not a full fledged member of the elitist fraternity of the yuppie winner's circle. then again, at a second look, kerry was anything but "any other". he moved with a graceful purpose,…

i docked my secretary's pay for two months for wearing an outdated pair of fendi pumps from their 2011 spring collection. "more is expected of you because of who you represent, do you understand?" i said, as i handed her the check for the amended amount.

last month i was cordially invited to attend a dinner and masquerade at tim robbins and susan sarandon's residence. however, i did not attend because i had better shit to do.

in a panic, i feverishly stuffed handful after handful of crisp bills into a large black duffel. the sirens grew in volume, as did my panic; my hands and arms jerked sloppily, spilling cash about the bedspread. i continued to cram the bag until the zipper could barely close, then pressed it through the back bathroom…

the light from the fire place leapt and flickered in the silvery pendant. i lifted it over her head, and waited as she gathered her long hair away. finally, i wrapped it around her neck and struggled with the clasp for a moment, before it rested about her shoulders. turning to me, she gently touched the jewelry as her…

dabbing at the corners of my mouth with the monogrammed cloth, i gently cleared my throat and asked for a second helping of the duck fat potatoes. then, when placing the monogrammed napkin back into my lap, i was careful not to disturb the walther that rested across my thighs.

are you inviting me over? haha - with all due respect, buddy - i'm a raspberry pi guy.

last night i walked down to the basement in the dark. moving by memory alone i made my way to a lonely corner where i knew a large antique mirror stood. as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, i could only faintly recognize the black outline of my reflection. i then whispered "kerry kilos" over and over and over again,…