Changing things up with a short sci-fi-style reading: “A Brief Version of Time” by Alan Lightman – physicist, author, and apparently underrated renaissance man – originally published in the February 8, 1993 edition of the New York Times.
This “article” about the philosophical what-ifs of immortality really captivated my imagination when we studied it back in high school AP English, and I hope you enjoy it too! (even if it is a bit bleak)
“Illustration” by me. See more photography on my Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/tnw24/
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It’s time for a new round of seven of my favorite super-short scary stories, read aloud with my own “illustrations” on YouTube!
Contains the following quality scares:
[1] “Pile of Photographs”
[2] “The Lighthouse”
[3] “The Murderer”
[4] “Crayons”
[5] “Difchil”
[6] “Upstairs”
[7] “Bad Dream”
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Many of these stories can be found at http://scparchive.wikidot.com/archive — in any case, no clue on any of the authors.
All “illustrations” by me! See more of my (less eerie) photography on my Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/tnw24/
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Ever have this dream?
Back in the spooky saddle with a reading of “Bernhard’s Door,” a story(?) I found in image form on 4chan or something years ago. I have no idea of author or the origins of it.
Music credit: “Lullaby” feat. Dot Allison by Christian Henson, from the soundtrack to the delightfully mind-bending scifi-horror film “Triangle.” Will just reupload without it if that gets copyright flagged, but I love how it kinda synced up!
“Illustration” by me. See more on my Instagram @ TNW24!
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A life in pages.
As I lay in bed last night, I started writing something to help me deal with my frustration over the difficulty of creating fleshed-out characters for the various novels I’m outlining. Somehow, within two lines, it became a poem!
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Character Study
I am a character.
I exist in sentences, breathe between fragments of symbols
laid out upon polished parchment.
My ambitions are tentative, my past abstract,
until you take this next clause and consonants
to explain my who, what, when, where, why, and how.
This is not ideal.
I would prefer to be absolute, to be able to look
around every corner of life’s labyrinth
and know how the bends curve to end.
As it stands, I walk by a torch
waved at your whim, vim lent through a passive void
blessed with meaning and being on a case-by-case basis.
A closed cover could conclude me at any
moment.
A picture, once rendered, could cast me
as an iconic beauty
or deformed doodle.
This world is not kind to the fictional, see.
You abuse us, prop us up
to promote your ends and means.
We vague infinity, the people who could be, should be, may have been,
are the scarecrows in your field of dreams,
pocketing promises like rocks as ballast
for whatever sale you set.
But page-wise, perhaps I can transcend. Already,
you feel obligated to keep writing,
keep reading.
Already you have fixed some image of who I am,
face and intonation pasted
from some old encounter like papier-mâché over a withered balloon:
A brother, a lover, a stalker, an ex-professor.
It’s said that people are only ideas
incarcerated in calcium and calories.
Yet I roam free, by virtue
of ink and imagination.
You think yourself the powerful one, but
after every book you took your words from,
every film you filched your inflections from,
every game that trained your reflexes,
and every song from which you stole your emotions,
motivation woven into heartstrings, tell me:
Who created who?
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Notes&Sketches 