My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "The wolf's howl is fatal to all who hear it," it is claimed. Which, in retrospect, is really hard to fathom considering that if anyone heard the wolf's howl, he or she would die. Meaning who would be able to go back and tell someone that the wolf's howl was fatal? Certainly not a dead person. You see, a dead person has no capability of speech, ergo, no will to communicate. Because the person can't speak. You know. 'Cause the person's dead. The truth is, the wolf has been very much wronged reputation-wise. You see, people have heard its howl - it just happens to be badly timed. Many people have indeed fallen dead around the time the canine's released a high-pitched wail, but that was due to a contagion. So really, bad timing is all there is to it. It also explains why not everyone died upon hearing the howl. Heck, I know people who have heard it and they're as healthy as unhunted bison. I did plan to interview the wol...

Madison was purple-sleeved and silver-cuffed, and her hair was tied back loosely in a braid. She walked onto that stage with all the Shakespearean charisma necessary to bring justice to the idioms of the bard. She was a magnificent tragedian in the all-girl cast, bringing more bravado to the role of Hamlet than most men that her director father had seen in performances past.

I just went to an AmeriCorps get-together, drove over eight hours to get to Orange that included heinous Los Angeles traffic, am currently hanging out with my old college buddies, and am eagerly anticipating my girlfriend's university graduation. What else do you want me to say? Sleepyyyyyy...

Untitled #2 by Belinda Roddie For four minutes I sat Thinking Vibrations in my back pocket Phone calls that I refused to answer Typical Me What? No. No, I’m not antisocial. I just don’t like people. Is there a difference? You told me you were happy. You told me you loved sleeping in the folds of my wool sweater, even though it itched your face and gave you a rash. You told me that. The mistake I made was Believing it. Me? Typical? To answer is useless Listen to the Vibrations Take care when Thinking The work you see here has not been edited nor altered since May 13th, 2011.

The pixels in the image were very blurry when magnified, but Larry found them fascinating. He no longer had a need to scan through photographs on a general scale, or desired to observe actual trees or fruits in still life. He simply believed in te fuzzy dots. I guess that's why Larry later in life decided to pick up pointillism. Only it was just incoherent dots when he did it.

Detective Mason Found An Egg by Belinda Roddie Detective Mason found an egg beside the back door of the suspect's apartment. She examined it carefully and spied through the window for possible movement. When she deduced the place was empty, she analyzed the egg further, and she thought, "This must not be a normal egg. Let's see what's inside." She clawed at it, fingers hot, and tore away the shell. A sudden flash of gold lit up Detective Mason's eyes, as she stared at the secret, hidden stash of a golden orb carefully disguised as a chicken product. A clue, indeed! She slipped the prize beneath her jacket tweed.

No one expects the wrath of the self. The self that chews away at the marrow in your bones, and the doctors tell you that all you can do is appease it. Feed it drugs. Talk about it. Talk to it. Beg for it to stop. Nowhere do they teach you how to defang it - or train it to gnaw on something less vital to your sustenance. They don't teach you to hold the self and kiss it and tell it it's beautiful. Because then they wouldn't make money off of it.