Entries By Eric Harrell
Displaying 1 To 30 Of 186 Entries
beer
An excuse to be weak. A façade of charisma. A pseudo-strength. Beer is the word, alcohol is the subject. Justify the destructive nature. Pilfering your liver’s health and poisoning your mind.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 05.07.2013 @ 11:32 am
clasp
I clasp the seven cards within my hand and the moment will filled with apprehension. My sweaty palms clung to the cards as I clung to the edge of my seat, hoping, expecting and appreciating my opponents move. He made it, I made mine. Fortune favoured me today, though I shall not anything to hold its sway. Once in turn for me, is another against me and I absolute accept that.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 04.27.2013 @ 10:33 pm
bowling
How I’d wished this morning for failure, instead my life attends to bowling. Not the sport, no, recalling a scene of that would be too easy but rather the process of making a ceramic bowl part of Kizaemon’s bowl technique of colonial Japan, I seek to create the fragmented and ordinary pieces. The most ordinary exhibit the greatest mystery.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 04.26.2013 @ 12:00 am
planter
Shelly was a planter, things that weren’t hers grew as seeds in whatever she sowed. Burns wasn’t certainly conniving nor did he harbour much hate, yet the seed in his mind put his entire character at stake. Finally at the scene where the two of them meet, Shelly tells Burns a truth to water the seed and salt his wounds, the anger brewed and then Burns tragically set what he loved most on Fire. All ends are ominous as the thought of them is neither sadistic nor twisted yet instead, quite profound.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 04.24.2013 @ 11:48 am
magenta
Magenta world colliding sundered the universe in two, a speckled black paste filling the abyssal cracks. Shouldn’t have fallen, should have never been but forces of reality came to an untimely conclusion. Alteration caused the fact.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 04.22.2013 @ 4:20 am
burrow
It has been a while, like a plaster cast breaking free I unfurl my brow and edge my fingers over the keyboard. I picture a choir in the background, an ominous call like those in churches as I begin to type. The music swells as I burrow into my work, my head cast forward (the drums start now), my fingers fully immersed into the writer’s spirit (the voices thrum in harsh heaves) and I finish with a period and sit back to marvel the work, reclining as the music fades…
Posted By Eric Harrell On 04.20.2013 @ 1:49 pm
flour
We dropped the bag of flour on the floor when we saw what was on the horizon. The bag seal popped off and the white powder threw itself like a wave across the floor, taking the shape of the tiles as another cloud of light flour lifted into our faces. We couldn’t take our eyes off the horizon, it was as black as night long past dawn, a cloud of white in the distance and a creeping wave was rushing towards us.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 04.07.2013 @ 8:47 am
vines
Vines up my University buildings, walking on the adjacent side-walk, they just seem like an infection. Since when have ivy vines become synonymous with academic prowess, is academic prowess even a feat? Shouldn’t we decry those who subsist on the finances of their parents and recluses who think they are more entitled than others for it? I guess my respect for a man or woman juggling jobs and dreams have no place here. What’s disheartening is that I see no avenue to change any of that.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 04.04.2013 @ 6:22 pm
bagel
Thrust me back through that hole, past the sesame stocks, past that scorched ground, into the granulations of its creator.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 04.03.2013 @ 6:12 pm
tornado
Big ol’ Brown was like a tornado come this way through Kansas. Swirling eddies for his beards and a cackle to sheer off the hair that makes you feel like a man. He’ll take your woman and show you a joke about what’s black and blue. Better to stay clear, big wigs don’t mean nothing to this bat outta hell!
Posted By Eric Harrell On 03.28.2013 @ 9:20 am
boots
A shrill in the distance as we march. Our boots plunging into the mud with every precise step. Drums keep tempo behind us and we stare at the heart of the republic. Our goal, Rome. Our music, in our hearts. We pine for vengeance, knowing that we would achieve fragment of it. Crixus, Agron. Lead us as leaders, yet I do not serve in shackles. I follow in freedom, despite how fortune favours us. To be legends, the sowers of fear in the lion that is the Roman Empire. My boots carry me to that end.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 03.24.2013 @ 10:46 am
beware
Beware the dog of my old neighbour’s yard, he barks and may have an appetite for little boys. How do I know? We’ll little wild Bill, you bet that I swear that I’ve seen that old crone invite Nebraska Huey, yes the one that don’t come around here anymore. You know why? Old Nana next door invited him over and I heard the dog hollering later that day. Come morning fence bled red from the other side, all I heard was that dog chewing.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 03.21.2013 @ 7:33 am
pained
It pained me to see you go, walk through that door with your braids waving goodbye. Know that I haven’t forgotten you, your sweet smile and your fragrance. How everyone has influenced me, and how many more times I’ve been influenced by you. I bid you adieu, my love, my comfort…my sweet, lovely, innocence.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 03.19.2013 @ 1:37 pm
cities
Cities are my realm. Not my ownership but rather cities are the place that my life owes itself to. To be separated from the burgeon and the noise and the surmising tide of silence means a silent death. Rural life, suburbia, it can be beautiful but so can artifice, so can motion, in a way despite being so far from nature I still feel closer to life. Maybe this opinion is from modernity, maybe from comfort or fear of the unknown but in experience, I can sit at a bench on a side-walk and get more pleasure, bear more thoughts and access more ideas because of the potential movement. The silence and relaxation doesn’t feel forced as the only option as it can in nature but is more deliberate because of its pronouncement. I intended to talk about the guiding force of a cityscape but I’ve realized a fact about myself as my small thoughts and ill-formed observations now coalesce into this paragraph. This is why I write on oneword.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 03.17.2013 @ 1:28 pm
overt
Now should I pretend to be that has transcended me. No, why should I? Should I vilify that which is so opposing? I’d rather prefer to strike up a conversion with my mind’s schism, like Dostoevsky’s protagonist leftie, a voltaire of his time.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 03.15.2013 @ 7:06 pm
blasted
Frantic as Raskolnikov’s second kill, similar too is my opinion to myself. Oh how the sands fall and the hour-glass grows thin. If only fate would have a sign, to sit and bide my time or wallow in a bit of shame and arrive to class without any knowledge of this week. Surely I was blasted off my bedsheets in this heightened state, with good reason at this crossroads there is no other way to describe my entrance.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 03.15.2013 @ 5:20 am
returned
I’ve returned from a long sleep, a dull affair of lying still and rolling my pupils back. Should I contemplate my existence by reviewing that strange dream? Is it worth it? I came back from a long trip and had received something that which once was lost. I have no idea what that is, I have no idea if I should continue. What if the key to my existence was just lost, what would describe it being found once again?
Posted By Eric Harrell On 03.08.2013 @ 3:43 am
signals
Signal the mountain-top torch pit. It is time. Wave yours hands, pucker up your lips, hope for all of it to return. The grace with which you bestowed in intermission is now upon you. Let it reign free here, or on your pieces to evoke tears. Just promise me something, pinky swear this low-named artist, this easily-forgotten writer’s name and welcome it into your heart, and accomplish something great.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 03.06.2013 @ 12:13 pm
weakling
“I was not a weakling!” Mr. Dagan screamed to the classroom of children three times less his age. He could not stand it any more, he would not have it. He got up, threw a chair, grabbed a student in a headlock and yelled more profanities. Nevermind his education, he did not want to see the distance between him and his students and he put himself amongst them. “I’ll show you my strength!” Admittedly he didn’t fail, though strength was no good measure in our contemporary society and so where he excelled in strength, he failed at wit. All was lost for Mr. Dagan, woe to his wife and to their unborn child never to be born.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 03.04.2013 @ 8:52 am
instill
To instill some passion is someone you must incite their desires. Use your reason to discern a way. The purpose should be to benefit you, after all we are all selfish creatures. And yet we can also lie or know false truths. Instill is a word, Chrome you can tell me no different.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 03.02.2013 @ 2:52 pm
conjured
I conjured up a fury in my house late last night. When I discovered a my film cover was screening at local theatre. Ah but then I woke and my fears dissipated, how inflated my pride was in morning before I headed off to my slated slot of dull affairs, my boring desk job selling office chairs. Yet my imagination had conjured up some feelings and daydreaming I visited that dream where I had my screening done and everyone sung praise. A grace of imagery had floated upon me, I was not screenwriter, I was no desk jokey, I was but a student of unstable flair, typing upon a site in which my post – this post – I would then share.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 03.01.2013 @ 3:52 pm
sentenced
I’ve sentenced myself to a cell of books. Lectures are bricks and tutorials are lashings. How I am discouraged, demotivated and defeated amongst so many great minds. I am fraction lost, a meagre voice in a choir. This embitterment represented here are my laments from my cyber tomb harrowed by vocalized fears. A prisoner of a room, of duty and shame. Worried of insanity, of instability, of not finishing.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 02.28.2013 @ 12:48 pm
weathered
The tree’s bark was brittle and under the contusion of the unceasing desert sun, it cracked and turned upon itself, dropping to the ground. Underneath was not a vital body but a weathered husk, long drained and long gone.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 02.20.2013 @ 11:29 am
grasped
I had grasped the concept long ago, when my whiskers were thick and opaque. Yet now what I once understood so easily is beginning to slip ever so slowly away. Should my fingers desperately cling or should I accept the end to that knowledge.
Grasping, futilely, desperately for that which I want to hold and possess.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 02.20.2013 @ 9:07 am
flailing
Imagined flailing, hopeless trapping. A hypothetical barrier of respect. I want to leave but should I? If I do, I’ll lose faith in others eyes. And so I’m trapped in a cage, hoping to make face with those I bitterly hate.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 02.18.2013 @ 2:30 pm
sanctity
Sanctity of my sanity is a fragile place, one threatened by challenges. I love school, I know and have decided to take a class for the rest of my life. Yet here I sit and type, avoiding yet another paper that brings me so to the edge of insanity.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 02.14.2013 @ 11:15 pm
willed
Desperation so willed to pay the rent of my apartment bill. Must I work for two just to provide what one wants? Unfortunately so, yet my rest is so near. Four hours yet these four are not simply hours, they are madness writing for easily thirty. Just how must effort can I put in? I will attempt it despite being already strung thin.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 02.15.2013 @ 3:28 pm
flat
They resided in a bachelor in a flat in North Newhampshire. He was a strange class of man, a life-long student taking one class and his other, a slightly disturbed and shy friend spent countless nights thinking over every aspect of life. Natural philosophy was bred between the two and their revelations would never be known to the world at large.
Posted By Eric Harrell On 02.13.2013 @ 2:13 pm
salesman
Salesman on the phone, I answer, recognize the pitch and groan. Salesman at the door, “No time, sir!” I said but really he was a bore. Salesman at the counter, I feign a smile, and eagerly leave with my flounder. Salesman in the mirror, As I pull closer my visage is clearer. Saleswoman with me at the printer, “See you later dear, stoked for dinner!”
Posted By Eric Harrell On 02.07.2013 @ 6:11 pm
