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.
To the masses protesting—I regret to inform you: there’s nothing you can do.
Donald Trump is president. We live in a weird moment in history.
One day, we’ll tell our grandkids that a reality TV star ran the country.
But hey—good news!
You don’t have to worry.
He can’t actually do most of the shit he promised.
Fire all his workers? He’d go broke….
By Jack Thomas
Read MoreThe art is simple. It’s power.
A game of chess, but the pieces breathe. Pawns with pulses.
We fight because we’re told there’s something greater.
Invent a villain. Call them the wolf.
Sharpen the pitchforks. Light the torches.
It’s open season.
The suits don’t speak.
And if they do, don’t expect truth.
By Jack Thomas
...less confident in the story because of the flaws found while reading, I can’t think of repairs for my hopeful masterpiece.
The laptop closes and I move onto the next day. Again, I do the meaningless routines of daily life, speak to people I hate, wander the streets in hopes of inspiration. I light my surroundings ablaze and beg the flame for inspiration. Perhaps it’ll jog something in my memory. I land in front of the laptop and the fumes do their job well, not the one I anticipated, but, you know, clouding things up. Now I can’t focus, but I’ve committed to the writing time and I plan to sit here and write until I’ve completed my commitment, regardless of whether or not something useful, pointless or anything at all lands on the page.
This cycle of aimless wandering goes on for days before they mutate into weeks and evolve into months. Nine to be exact. Nine months of this torturous aimless, uncertain wander through life, through the words, through the pages. Somewhere down the line I turned the word count off until I was confident the story was told. I finally turn it back on and discover the word count...
The fast food stop shops around me, shrouded in shadow and darkness, hid the screeching runner. It saw me, but I couldn’t see it. A unique situation, I might add, because I didn’t know where it would come from. The mall’s design laid the food stop in such a way that the food court itself was in the center and the “restaurants” surrounded it.
As the scream faded back into silence, I came down to the height of the tables. Crept steadily to the food court. Here I had more tables to move around. More sun blocks overhead illuminating the place both helped and hurt me. I’d have a better chance of spotting the infectee before he attacked, but it would have an easier time tracking me, as well. Assuming it was alone I could try to sneak around it and stab it in the head before it knew what hit it.
Nothing happened. The scream completely died off into nothingness and nothing else happened. Without interruptions I was making my way between the tables. I pushed chairs out of the way and moved tables as needed to make my way through, making some noise but....
