journal entry
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Inspired by All Quiet on the Western Front and the Christmas Truce of 1914 The trench exhales a stale, unreal air,Thick with rot, a shroud none can bear.Wet drips from noses, a ceaseless fall,Chapping lips erased by war’s cruel thrall.A book lies torn—pages shred and weep,Their whispered tales too frail to keep. Silent Night hums…
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“The Kool-Aid.” Not because it’s my actual favorite, but because, let’s be honest—we’ve all taken a sip. At some point, we’ve blindly bought into an idea, a cause, or a relationship, ignoring every neon warning sign flashing BAD IDEA. And oh, did I drink. Sometimes I just got queasy, other times, it was a full-on…
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Part I The San Gabriel Mountains stretched across the horizon, their peaks rising anywhere from five to ten thousand feet, dusted with the remnants of winter’s last breath. The recent storms had draped elevations above 5,000 feet in fresh snow, transforming them into inverted ice cream cones dipped in vanilla. As the sun climbed higher,…
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One extreme to another,we move like shadows in a hall of mirrors,chasing reflections of what never was. I thought you loved me—but love is a language I misread,syllables slipping between regretand the point of diminishing returns. We all make mistakes,excuses have their uses,like slicing a cake into piecestoo small to taste. Shaking a hand, clenching…
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I like being around people who build you up instead of tearing you down(1Thes. 5:11-24, 1Peter 5:8)—basically, the human equivalent of a good contractor, not a wrecking ball. That list changes day to day (because, let’s be honest, some people wake up and choose chaos), but at its core, it’s my closest friends (3), my…
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A dreamscape of loss and longing, where time unravels and echoes of the past linger— life’s relentless grind swallows dreams, yet the poet weaves meaning from the void.
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“Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.” — Walt Whitman I’ve Stood Soft I’ve stood soft against a hard rain,cold and wet clinging unrelentingto detached thoughts,iron-hot in vain. I’ve stared into a gray sun,choked on burnt exhaust,inhaled cigarettes with disgust—yet still, I breathe. I’ve turned away…
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Umm… I don’t know? Because if I did, wouldn’t that mean it was intentional? Wait, what? And now I’m spiraling down a philosophical rabbit hole. So… yes. I mean, no. Actually, that’s a hard no. (I think.)
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**Phantom girl, adrift in air,woven light and whispered prayer.Mirror seas and silent chime,lost between the pulse of time. Veil of glass, a frozen blur,echoes hum but never stir.Stars dissolve, yet still they burn—step beyond, unmask, return.** a response to this song that i always found mysterious Lyrics Every day, every mightIn that all old familiar…
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“A man may don many garments—some ill-fitting, some absurd—stitched from the words of others. But the cut of one’s true self cannot be tailored by another’s hand.” bb grey-hyde “Dr. J. E. Kyll and Mr. Feels: A Treatise on Overthinking and Emotional Minefields” The hour finds me in contemplation, my mind still burdened by the…
BB Grey--musings 