My Cardboard Balcony

Aw, do I have to be introspective right now? Saw my girlfriend earlier this week, which was wonderful. Came to a standstill in my novel, but that's okay, I'll pick it up at some point. Working out job stuff and filling out forms to turn in. Saw Marin Summer Theater put on an incredible show of Les Miserables  that was of course at least three hours long. Yeah. My brain is incapable of introspection right now. Night, lovelies.

Descent by Belinda Roddie The blood of a savior drips from a crown of thorns Mingles with the rain from his eyes And the sweat from his brow The lightning strikes his shoulders as he tries to breathe The air moves in spirals, down, Down, until there is nothing left but The wine from a chalice The work you see here was written in the fall of 2009. It was last edited in December of the same year.

Clara Tankman was a very wealthy girl with very poor ambitions. And by poor, I do not mean mediocre - I mean impoverished, penniless. A word that many critics would claim was synonymous with "artistic." You see, three months back, Clara watched her father die, took seventy-five percent of his inheritance, and gave it all away to those she viewed as less fortunate. She sent the other twenty-five percent of it to her mentally disabled brother, before she took off to Morocco with only five hundred dollars to her name.