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The stereo system plays music I don’t like often, like that one song “Everything Flutters Away,” which is a piano tune my grandmother used to play at Christmas time. It always reminds me of the first girl I ever kissed, auburn hair on an autumn afternoon.

Posted By Ricky Morales On 09.03.2009 @ 3:20 pm

The radio played some melody from my childhood that I remembered in the vague parts of my consciousness: the thought of a mother, the song of a brother who’d long ago passed away. These things were now lost to me. It’d been years since I returned to that old house and heard anything from the piece of junk my grandma used to own, a relic from the early 30′s when the depression was in full swing. I couldn’t believe it’d been so long.

Posted By Ricky Morales On 08.12.2009 @ 7:32 am

To cleanse one’s soul of the imperfections of our time — that should be the goal of any self-respecting human being. When I opened my eyes, I was in a forest clearing where nothing mattered anymore, not the lessons I’d learned in school nor the problems I’d ever had with my friends. I was at peace, at one with the universe in that time when all thought had seemingly been erased from my consciousness. I simply was, I simply existed.

Posted By Ricky Morales On 08.10.2009 @ 4:41 pm

The gallery was filled with priceless paintings, all of them with my face on them. I don’t know why my expression shifted imperceptibly from one to the next, but I could tell they were all of me in different states of consciousness. What were those images trying to tell me? I thought. And when I awoke the next morning, I could see myself in the faded white of the walls, in the water stains where my childhood had ended.

Posted By Ricky Morales On 08.09.2009 @ 4:26 pm