The Abstract Art Gallery
Broken, confused writer Jack Thomas puts the images in his mind on display in this "Blog." He dives into personal experience and his observations of the world to share his take on morality, childhood trauma, creativity, relationships, sex, politics, religion, violence, reality and more. Using countless formats from narrative driven short stories, to poetry, to song lyrics and philosophical explanations.
I've decided to, for this post, put up another conversation. This time I had a conversation with a person who killed a man and got away with it for seemingly no reason.
They've chosen to remain anonymous, but were glad to share the events that happened, how they unfolded and how it was resolved.
Enjoy the conversation with a killer.
In my attempts to develop four characters for a novel, I will begin to experiment with them here as occasional "Blogs". With all hopes I'll find a couple of subjects and scenarios I like and they'll transfer to the bigger story if I ever write it. This is part one of this experiment to develop characters Daniel, Scythe, Prodigy and Cross.
Doing something different for this one.
This is a slow paced conversation with a young lady named Brittney. It's casual and light. The subject matter is dark, but we don't dive too far into detail and just quickly brush over the more brutal details. If we manage to get her back in the future, perhaps she'll tell us more about this or she'll want to discuss any number of topics. We'll see how it goes from here on out.
Let me start by saying how little I care about these upcoming elections. The charge is being carried forward by two criminals who are both going to wage war against the rest of the world given the opportunity to run the Oval Office...
During a conversation with my friend, Ellie, I remember this hilarious joke I heard. I don't remember where I heard it, but I just had to share it. Ellie also had a joke to tell me, but I forgot and left.
Anyway, here is the story of the time I told her that joke.
Living in this infamous informal institute,
Feeling insulted, having to induce identity onto the inflexible.
Impatiently await the impending impediment.
Immerging from an impaled death is the impact of imperceptible imperfection.
Watch as they indulge interminably.
They leave intervals resulting from incomprehensible self-interest,
Letting interiors die of intoxication.
They introduce their lives to death,
Inviting others to share their indistinct pain and invincible misery.
This image imagined is an insignificant, infinitesimal imitation of the impoverish life innocent eyes have seen.
All of this is improper.
I act on impulse to call this an inarticulate hell.
This is life.
By Jack Thomas
Read MoreI've decided to start sharing more about myself. Nothing too person, rather, just my thoughts and opinions instead of having a voiceless objective outlook at all times. I'm aware that true objectivity is impossible and now I'd like to give you a small taste of how my mind works so that my posts have more of a tone when you read them. I plan to do this by breaking down some of my likes and dislikes!
