November 24
The year is waning, like the days it is getting darker, colder more forlorn. The stories we need to be telling about this fire, as we toast our marshmellows, are remeniciences. Memories and throughts about the past, about our past or a made up past, one we would have wanted or perhaps one we would not. Perhaps told as a warning to prepare us for the depths of winter, perhaps as hope of truly living another day.
To the Shack
A life that promised as much greatness as the mother could imagine, in the words...
Arrival
A woman gets out of a taxi. When she gets to the door it opens. Buzz. She steps into a...
Outside
The woman stands at the door, examining her phone. The door opens to her touch. She steps...
The assembly
The naked woman in a lion mask steps into a room with a sofa and a champagne...
And will it succeed 
Twenty24
As I allocate the server space to the unordered thoughts of the year I hope that,...
