Original photo via myeccentricity
Tag Archives: art
A pale light streamed in through the single window, giving sight to the particles of dust in the air. Lily sat still atop a desk, looking at her feet, dangling freely. Her dark hair fell over her face, hiding her grey eyes. Across the room, Luke said nothing, and only stared blankly back at her.
“I bet you’re thinking about what I’m thinking, aren’t you?” She said still looking at Luke through narrow eyes. “Try and guess.” She lifted her head and blew her bangs back over her forehead. “No matter what you say, I won’t let you go,” she said looking straight into his eyes.
He said nothing.
“We’ve been through so much,” she continued. “I know you say I may be too controlling. Too much for you to to manage. But you know what Luke? I love you. Don’t you understand that?” Her eyes stayed on his but he still had yet to speak. He didn’t even blink.
“I’m the one that taught you to be this way. I’m the one who showed you how to be strong. I’m the one, who showed you how to stand up for yourself! When we met…you were…how can I say this? You were pretty weak.”
He glanced at her.
“A pushover. Now? Now it’s as if nothing can harm you.”
She squinted her eyes in frustration.
“What’s that look? Luke?”
She walked over to him, her arms folded. Continue reading
Mm ba ba de
Um bum ba de
Um bu bu bum da de
Pressure pushing down on me
Pressing down on you no man ask for
Under pressure – that burns a building down
Splits a family in two
Puts people on streets
Um ba ba be
Um ba ba be
De day da
Ee day da – that’s o.k.
It’s the terror of knowing
What this world is about
Watching some good friends
Screaming ‘Let me out’
Pray tomorrow – gets me higher
Pressure on people – people on streets
Day day de mm hm
Da da da ba ba
Chippin’ around – kick my brains around the floor
These are the days it never rains but it pours
Ee do ba be
Ee da ba ba ba
Um bo bo
People on streets – ee da de da de
People on streets – ee da de da de da de da
It’s the terror of knowing
What this world is about
Watching some good friends
Screaming ‘Let me out’
Pray tomorrow – gets me higher high high
Pressure on people – people on streets
Turned away from it all like a blind man
Sat on a fence but it don’t work
Keep coming up with love
but it’s so slashed and torn
Why – why – why ?
Love love love love love
Insanity laughs under pressure we’re cracking
Can’t we give ourselves one more chance
Why can’t we give love that one more chance
Why can’t we give love give love give love give love
give love give love give love give love give love
‘Cause love’s such an old fashioned word
And love dares you to care for
The people on the edge of the light
And love dares you to change our way of
Caring about ourselves
This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves
Tis’ the season of love is it not? I wrote a status a while ago. Then recently I wrote another similar to the first:
I really don’t care if you’re gay or straight.
I don’t even care of you’re slim or overweight.
If you’re white or Latino, black or Filipino, you know none of that stuff really matters to me.
Only thing worth knowing is God’s love, is free.
Then…I saw this and I had to share.
“It doesn’t matter if you’re atheist or Christian, Hindu or Muslim, straight, gay, transsexual, black or white, or anything and everything between. I love you. I care about you as people, as individuals. You are not targets to convert. You are people that I love and people I want to invest in. I want to love you in the best way I know how – and that’s loving you how Jesus does. Unconditionally. ♥”–Julianna Pardue
Many say I am an inspiration. I cannot claim that without feeling humbled greatly. But I will say love is indeed my greatest inspiration. And is the reason I do what I do. God’s Love. This is no preaching. Far from it.
Sometimes the very quote that you’re seeking out for inspiration…is in your very own heart.
the title of this blog post was written by my wife Jennifer for a song we are writing.
We continue on with lil Pemberton, the miscreant and resident human in the Forest That Screams…
Pemberton searched high. He searched low.
But he could not find his November Issue, “Oh! Where did it go?”
He has never before been so sad,
save for the day he wandered into the forest, oh, it was bad.
But since then he has found his home
among the ghouls and Gruns…and misshapen gnomes.
Something new and fresh now covered the ground
’twas white and clean and fell with no sound.
The eerie screams from the forest they cried,
“This is the day the keeper of the Forest died!”
The snow began to take shape it did seem,
and now lil Pemberton was beginning to gleam
that the form before him was that of a man!
“So this was my predecessor, the leader of the clan?”
Before they could answer, the spectre, he spoke:
“My, what a pudgy and pale little bloak*!”
Pemberton stepped up to the man, looked at his face,
“This is now my little space!”
“Very well!” the blue tinted man sneered,
in his hands it looked like a book now appeared
Pemberton forgot all about the man’s icey stare,
for now he had the Winter Issue…for all the Forest to share.
Click the brilliant cover.
*thank you, E.
There once was a girl named Elise,
who loved and laughed and spread peace.
But her joy was smashed into bits, and her laughter was halted, as she dealt with shin splits!
No longer were things to be nothing but fun!
For everyone runs…runs from the Grun.
also, MAD props to my daughter Araceli who created the first draft of Elise. ❤
This is Episode One of A Tale From The Land of Zuzu: The Run From the Grun
Stay tuned for Episode Two…
Cruz and Tanís took the streets, Cruz with his radio in hand. Today was the day. Today was the day. Cruz had so much excitement inside he could no longer keep it in. He ran through the alley as fast as his legs would take him.
“Come on, Tanís! Hurry up!”
The clamor on Main Street got louder and louder. Cruz could hear the shouting and his smile widened.
Felizidades! Feliz dia de los muertos! shouted the people in the streets.
Holidays are fun. But for Cruz, this was his favorite. It was a day to remember those who had gone before him. His abuelo* past away only a few months ago. Abuelo would take him fishing, often, and would regale him with stories of the old days. He would recall to Cruz, whom he called with affection Cruzizito, the struggles he had growing up as a Mexican immigrant to the States-and Cruz loved him dearly. He respected him more than anything. His father had died when he was much younger, so Abuelo raised him up until his 12th birthday-the day Abuelo passed. Now he was alone with his little brother, Tanís .
But again, this was the day. He would surround himself with the people celebrating the day with their lost loved ones.
Cruz reached the street and the party was on. People dressed in the traditional festive clothing, men with suits and hats, some marichis and some catrins and the women, in their vestidas, very ornate and beautiful indeed. Others partook in the march to the cemetary in shorts and shirts but none could deny their commitment was genuine. They wore the make-up that was known worldwide-the calacas.
The louder the better! Con goso! They shouted. Cruz was ecstatic. “My feet hurt, Cruz,” Tanís said softly.
“Shh, mira.” Cruz pointed to the many in the streets, and the smell of delicious food filled the air. “Mmm. Abuelo, you smell that? Tanís , remember that was Abuelo’s favorite.”
Tanís nodded sadly. The eight year old lowered his head. “I miss him, too Cruz.” Cruz looked down to him and put his arm ove rhis shoulders. “When we reach the marking, you can help me clean and put some fresh flowers on it, okay?”
The boys made their way to the cemetary and sat near Abuelo’s marking stone, in silence. People started in and out and the sun began to sit. “Abuelo,” Cruz began, holding back his tears. “I have an ofrenda for you. I hope you like it.” He picked up the radio and pressed play. It was one of Abuelo’s favorite songs.
The song finished and Cruz and Tanís stood up. Cruz wiped his tears and started down at the stone.
Nunca me voy a olvidarte.
That was Abuelo’s way. He wanted his stone to read that. To remind them that although he was gone, he would never forget. “Abuelo, we will never forget you.”
By this time it was dark and Cruz decided to head home. “Let’s go, Tanís . It’s getting late. Let’s go.” Tanís yawned and and nodded. “It was a really great gift you gave him, Cruz. I know he loved it,” Tanís said with a smile.
Cruz returned the smile and moved his hand over Tanís’ hair, tossling it a little. As they reached the gates of the cemetary there was a man with a woman walking by. Cruz nodded respecfully to the young couple, dressed exquisitely. The man had on a slim tailored suit and had jet black hair slicked back. He had no make up as many of the others had. The young lady had on a black dress with jewels sparkling all around. In her hair was a beautiful, crimson rose.
“Ha venido a traer una ofrenda, ninos?” The man stopped and asked.
Cruz stopped and turned. “Si senor. You look…” Cruz stopped short. He was in awe of how well-dressed and charismatic the couple looked. Especially the man. The man was tall and lean but looked very strong.
The man smiled. “Que es tu nombre , hjio?”
‘I’m Cruz and this is my little brother Tanís.”
“Bueno, mira. I have a calavera for you, hijos.” He reached in his pocket and handed Cruz a rather old looking pocket watch. He gave to Tanís a pen, embellished with gold.
“Soy un escritor. Tonight is a time to celebrate and give. So I give you these. Pasen buen noche, hijos.”
Cruz nodded, as did Tanis. They smiled at each other and turned to walk away.
“Abuelo used to be a writer, Cruz,” Tanís said with a big smile. Cruz looked at the watch and his eyes lit up. He stopped suddenly and put his hand on Tanís’ chest. A glowing inscription appeared on the back of the watch:
Nunca te olvidare, Cruzizito.
The glowing faded and Cruz turned around quickly, just in time to see the man smiling back at him, nodding and waving good-bye as he vanished into the night air, his lady catrina going with him.
Dedicated to my Welo Bruno Longoria, who went home, almost 17 years ago. machine.
Usually the image should accompany the story but this image is too amazing not to add it. It embodies the end of the story….vanishing from sight.
Matter of fact, it really fits in with a story I wrote called Una Noche Con Los Muertos, but I won’t reveal it just yet. :}.
Dia De Los Muertos by the brilliant PhatpuppyArt.
Thank you, Claudia.
*abuelo is grandfather.
Another calavera I have for YOU is this, the November Issue of Underneath The Juniper Tree! Read on share at will!
When we last saw the boy he was waving good-bye to his family in the ville,
the thought of them afraid of the dark, well it just made him ill!
His story continues with a little poem of sorts
never mind the ghastly GrumGrum beast’s snorts.
Tonight’s the night the ghouls and superhero’s feast!
On treats and goodies, some candy corn…at least.
They will come to the door, and don their disguises,
and better for their candy bag, if they should surprise us.
But one young man, oh, he has no joy.
He has no plan of action or ploy.
See though it be Halloween this night,
And the spirits about will come out to fright,
Lil Pemberton is not smiling, no he is down, he is forlorn
his spirit is remiss, yes, oh yes, it is torn!
for tonight is the last night he can sit and be free
Underneath The Juniper Tree.
The October Issue is going away, along with the dead,
and Pemberton is filled with such dread.
“But wait, young boy,” eerie voices team,
“Remember when you first walked into the Forest That Screams?
There is no need to cry, or pout,
or whine or to shout…”
The voices drew closer and ever closer still
The kind that could be break even the strongest man’s will.
It then continued in it’s haunting, dark speech
and now Lil Pemberton was within it’s cold reach,
“there is most certainly a reason to fear…
The November Issue…is coming, my dear.”
Matter of fact, the Issue is here! Read on and bedefrighted. |m|
10/31> And of course what Hallow’s Eve would be complete without Ichabod Crane. We all now what happened to the poor Mr. Crane* so let us enjoy…happier times.
*or do we?
I kept waking up last night, shivering. The shadows on the wall danced but…they weren’t happy. I heard something outside of the window and hesitated to look. I took a deep breath, got over it and looked. Nothing but the juniper tree hitting against it.
I decided to grab a snack, something small not too heavy. It was 3:33 in the morning after all! I wrapped my robe and scarf tight-it was cold out and the air was creeping in.
I ate my snack and exhaled. “Everything’s good,” I convinced myself then headed back to sleep…and then…I heard a knock at the front door. I opened my eyes and stared at the roof. “Are you kidding me?”
“Who’s there?,” I whispered and swallowed hard.
Silence for a minute or two. Then the tree began tapping the window. Good grief.
Then the knock started again. The rapping made my heart jump!
I had to answer so I jumped up without thinking, casting off the fear like my robe just a few minutes earlier.
I darted for the door and asked loudly, “Who is it! It’s 4:00 in the morning!”
Then the rapping continued…and stopped suddenly.
Why, oh why did I pick this cottage deep in the forest as a suitable place to live? I wondered.
I mustered the courage and told myself I was clearly delusional. Obviously from the lack of sleep. I thought of Poe for some reason and smiled. Enough of this, I thought to myself and started for the room-and the knock got louder. My eyes grew several inches in size and I turned, angry now, and opened the door.
“WHAT?” I yelled.
But there was no one there. I breathed in and out and looked to my feet. The October Issue of Underneath The Juniper Tree was resting on the ground. I stepped out and looked through the trees. But no one was out. The cold air brushed my air and I swear I heard an eerie laughter in it. I bent down to grab the issue just it began to rain. “Great,” I grumbled.
I didn’t see the figure with the pumpkin for a head behind me, in my own house…’til it was too late.
Hello all you writerly folk and beloved readers.
I really need to blog more than twice a week, right? It’s like I shared on Twitter earlier, if you think of a blog post topic, write. it. down. :}.
I’d yet to share this here.
Underneath The Juniper Tree, the online children’s lit magazine specializing in horror and scary things are constantly challenging writers and artists in creating newness. That is, new stories and art and they do it in a way that makes it so much fun. Seriously. I’ve had a great time in just a short time taking part in some of these brilliant “go for it’s”.
Matter of fact I am honored and syked to share with you all that a submission of mine won and will be featured in what is sure to be one of the best issues-the Halloween Issue. The prompt was, basically, end the story with this line:
“See you in St. Germaine!” She laughed as her eyes clouded over.
I thought about it for a second or two and the idea came to me. And…it won. That really is awesome. I’d also like to congratulate again, artist and new Friend, Elizabeth Rose Stanton, or as I call her E, on her win for art! Thank you @UnderTheJuniper and JuniperTreeLit for choosing my words to be a part of the scary!
I’ve submitted other shorts and again, they’ve been really fun to write.
I’m syked about this as well:
Literary Asylum, in cahoots with UTJT and Walden Pond Press are throwing a really cool contest and offering up some really pleasing prizes. You owe it to yourself to enter and do this. Check the link for all of the details and get in this.
I sat there for a few and asked myself, “Okay. What you got?” I answered with two paragraphs(part of the contest guidelines) and I really liked what I came up with. It was an exercise in writing, of course, but because of this prompt, I have since taken notes and started outlining/creating an entirely new book. I know, I believe, it will see the light…or night after the day. Word.
The upcoming Issue Of Underneath is sure to blow your mind…all over the wall. Check the September Issue and don’t forget to replace that night light bulb before the sun goes down.
A girl in a red cloak…running. Sounds simple enough, right? It was…or at least I thought it was. She wouldn’t leave me alone.
She screamed, “Tymothy…you write!?”
Surprised, I answered her. “Uhh, yeah sort of. I mean I have ideas…but…”
“Shut up!” she interrupted. “Listen! You hear that?” she asked me.
I looked behind her towards the darkness and yes…as I focused on the muted grumbling in the distance it became quite clear what I was hearing. Blood lust.
“Alright!” she yelled. “We don’t have a lot of time! Come on!” she grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the oncoming thunderous sound of…wolves.
“Are those?” I began.
“Yes! You write?”
“I told you, sort of!”
“Not good enough! Do it!” she was growing more impatient and for obvious reasons. She left my side and jumped high into the trees. “The stories! They’ll come to you! Write about us!” she cried then disappeared.
As I stared at the last spot she stood the wolves drew in closer. They looked surprised to see me but they salivated none the less.
“Boy…you mind tellin’ us ‘oo you is?” one of the enormous creatures asked.
“Where’s the…the girl?” snapped another.
As I looked at them and their various razor-lined teeth…it hit me.
I looked at my left-hand and saw a pen. I clutched it tightly and lifted my head to them. They realized who I was and they cowered in their fur. “It’s…it’s the Writer!” one of the wolves yelled in dismay.
“Yeah,” I began, “and you guys are in trouble.”
My love of God, comic books, graphic novels, Del Toro, arte, music! and all things nerd and geek and in between inspire me.
Hey everybody. Thanksa for stopping by. I’d like to invite you all quickly(or my definition of quickly) on a brief trip back in time a few years. *calibrating the Time Clock and waiting on Doc to refuel the DeLorean. What? I don’t have a Delorian? Doc’s not real?
Okay. Well, slight technical difficulty. But nothing we can’t work past, write?
A few years ago, I left the small town I was living in after working seven years as a Corrections Officer in a max. unit penitentiary. It was…difficult to say the least. But I kept my head up and stayed strong, believing my faith and believing deeper in the One I had faith in through it all. We started all over and I quickly learned my entirely new trade. It was night and day coming from corrections into manufacturing. Thank you, my brother for getting me that job. I was happy. I enjoyed creating, working with my hands in ways I had never done. Then on what would be considered any typical wedding anniversary-my wife and you all will get what I mean..I hope-I decided to surprise my wife, Jennifer, my inspiration numera una- with a “story” written just for her. It was about a robot, me, who was unhappy. He felt lost. Unsure. He seeks out in search of life and laughter and finds his true friend, a flower, the wife. I called it The Sad Little Robot. I shared it on Myspace for a few hours and it garnered a lot of hits and one comment from a lyricist/writer friend of mine, my age, read: “This is so awesome!”
I was thrilled. The views and comments were very appreciated. But I was happy I wrote it. An original story just for my wife. I created this. See before, I had written some poetry, I am very proud of it…but that was the brunt of my writing. I never imagined writing would be something I would do for more than just a hobby. Because I did enjoy it. Robut was the first “real” thing I had written. There is a scripture in the bible that says, “The gifts and calling of God cannot be taken away.” YOU’RE TELLING ME!!!
You see shortly after writing Robut, I got ideas for so. many. other. books. Ideas pulled from all the things I had learned in my years in church and from all of the mentors I had in my life. Non-fiction type stuff. God had never spoken so clear than this time in my life and then…I saw the above play out as clear as day.
See. I’m the Writer of The Stories. It’s been over a year. Since then, I have been on Facebook, Twitter, here, New Authors Fellowship, biblical based Ministries on Facebook that I am blessed to be a part of. In addition…I have made and come to know some of the most kind, supportive, brilliant and talented Writers, (self-pubbed, Indie-pubbed and traditionally-pubbed) and I have been most blessed by them all. I have been blessed to be able to write Guest posts and have had the pleasure of being interviewed. I’m still like-WHAAAT? Ya know.
But before, during and after all of that-there is a book. The first book in a series. The book that I knew I would go traditional with. The one I would query. That one I stared at some days and the one I created a fire under on most. See one thing is I never hated writing it. Never. I am happy to share that. I have inspired, thank you all, and have been inspired. I am grateful and humbled constantly.
Back to that whole query thing. I did it. I sent mine out. And you know what? I wasn’t as nervous as I thought I would be. (Call me on that bull some other time, will ya? ;})
Thing is…I never quit. I never stopped believing. When I stood outside that day and saw that truck pass by with the name Tim Lowder on it…I never looked back.
Guess what and praise God-it paid off. Because as of Friday, 9/9/2011-I am, an agented #writer.
This I believe because I do not believe in coincidences.
This is only the next step, albeit a HUGE step for me and I am extremely blessed and grateful to Bree. But this is the next step. Work follows…and I know, truly…The Stories is COMING.
Writers are the new rock stars. I send you #writerlove and doff my hat to you all.
You can do this. When I say I’m a writer…I mean it.
No matter your path…you can do this!
Beesler, Allie, Michele Shaw, Dawny, Mowery, River, Michelle Pic, My BNFF’s, Morgan, Leigh, Tiffany K!, TL, My Bros, Jamie and Twisters in the #YASB, My Fellow #7DSers, Alexia Purdy, Leighton, Milligan, Cribbs, Joseph, Diane Graham, K. Newsome, Ralene, Enamored, Deb, SmashAttack!, @ifollowthenight…I love and thank you all-all of you, ALL-for everything.
If you say you can’t you probably won’t…so don’t do that.
*Check out Bree. She is the absolute coolest. Oh, there’s more to come on Aspire No More. I give you my, “Word.”
The Stories: Book One, “Genesis” Excerpt and Five-Star Review Here: http://allieburke.blogspot.com/2011/09/writer-wednesday-stories-book-one.html
Okay folks. Have you seen the Nick cartoon Making Fiends? Well get that, some Shel Silverstein…then mix in some serious spook…and broil it at a temperature that will melt your face for four hours-you get Underneath the Juniper Tree.
This is one of my summer finds and it’s seriously cool.
Their contests are fun and challenging and lemme tell ya-they make me want to further my writing-all over again. I’m writing a horror short called Obey about kids and scariness…so this is perfect.
Did I mention the art? Continue reading
I Am Writer.
Who are you?
Tymothy Longoria. Proud member of the Twitter and Facebook #BNFF.
Of the YA Sisterhood.
Writer of The Sad Little Robut. Writer of The Stories:Book One “Genesis”. Writer of the Envy story in The Seven Deadly Sins Collaboration. Contributor at The New Authors Fellowship. Epic fan of music. Of Times Of Grace. Of Perception Of Intent. Of ForthAngel. Writer of poetry. Of biblical lessons. Of sayings that first help me then others. Twitter user. Facebook frequenter. Christian. Husband. Father. An inspiration for many-that’s what they say.
Jennifer, Christin, Allie, Nicholas, Tiffany K. , Nicole, Hira, Nannette, Michelle S., Paul J., Deana, M.j., Isom, Fallon, Andrea, Shawn B. Tina S., TMousner, LL, AmyRose, Rachel H., Dawn, IFollow aka Nancy, AT, Phlegyas, Shelly, Demetra, NB, Dennis, Angela Shay, Morgan, Michelle H., Jamie, Christopher, Avaedra, WovenStrands, Khloe, Rudy M., Skibby, Shredder, Sammie Spence, L.a. Shaw, Sean, Bill, Julie, Candace, K.C., River, Tiffy Coles, Tina J., Tina O., Stephen, Vickie, Keri, Amy Sandova, Heather R., Beth Ann Masarik!, Paul Mc, AmyBeth, Alba, Toby N., Nessa, Isalys, Ash, Haley, Diana I., Jenna, Penny, Kristina, Ranee D., Meg, Karly, Genevieve, Angela C., The entire #YASB and #BNFF, MY Brother, Sisters, Rusty, Steve, Bailey K., Amy D. R., Ozana, Em,.
Man. I love you guys. All of you.
I am a self-proclaimed:
- and most importantly of all, I am a lover, not a fighter, but I will fight for those I love. Love is, folks… I was in a band once, not anymore… No matter how many people hear what you have to say…if one person is changed, that’s all that matters. Life is what we have been given…give something back. A little is better than none. I have a special place in mah ❤ for Michael McDonald and Michael Buble. First names are coincidence, :} Also I’m the President of Robert Palmer’s “Some Like It Hot” Fan Club*.
Let’s do something.
Character is defined as what you do, how you act, what you think… when no one is watching.
This, too, is a hate free zone.
God is the Ultimate judge. Come by, visit, and see how deep the rabbit hole goes. I’m telling you it’s deep fool. If there’s no one beside you When your soul embarks Then I’ll follow you into the dark How I long for you to see Him as I do…EVERYTHING
Eímai syngraféas, proikisménos apó ton Ii̱soú-It is high time to rock this world.
Hola, Geia sou, Que pasa, vatooo!
Spanish, Greek and Mexican blood make me who I am. The Blood of Jesus makes me who I want to Be.
My life can be summed up this way: Prevail Upon.
My father used to say, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way”. I tell you, reader, if God’s will, He will surely CLEAR the way.
I met my Friend, Partner, Teacher, Student, “Grasshoppa”, the Bonnie to my Clyde, in 1995. I became a father at 18, to Jubal and never looked back. Eight years after, my green-eyed monsta, Araceli arrived.
Everyone says, “things happen for a reason.”
Well, that is truth if I ever heard.
I am developing my writing skills, some inherited, some learned.
I have always been more “serious” than a “jokester”, but I can play just as hard as I work.
Music speaks to the very soul and is why I embrace that which defines me.
I am a writer, currently working on my third fiction project with a series planned.
I am extremely excited about this project. The first book is a children’s book and it was a labor of love, written for my wife.
This one, however, this one IS my dream.
You will know His name is Jesus and those that don’t care to know, well, you still will. I love God. At the age of 15, I heard the name Jesus and now, that longing to be like Him grows daily. How I long for you to see Him as I do. My name is Tymothy Alex Lemos Longoria and to quote a radio rock song,
I tried to be someone else
But nothing seemed to change, I know now, this is who I really am inside. Finally found myself,
fighting for a chance! I know now, this is who I really am.
Stick around…it’s starting to get gooood.
I̱ cháris toú kyríou Ii̱soú Christoú metá toú pnév̱matos ymó̱n.
I want to meet and know people with similar interests…and people with a different outlook on life…I mean how else will I understand them?
People who see other people as people and know that those people are people too.-KM
Believers…and non-believers, writers, poets, singers; those who don’t care whose around, but express themselves, out loud, nerds, headbangers, slangers, players, of the game, the “gente in the barrio” and those in the high-rise, I’d like to tell YOU a few things, the more quiet type, screamers, listeners, and those who want to be heard.
I say, throw your hands up!!!
Come all people now!
Smile on your brother, everybody get together
Try and love one another, RIGHT now.
P.S.-If you are a CHRISTIAN and you have qualms or concerns about the “type” of music I like or the way one of THEIR album covers looks. If you are a CHRISTIAN and are weary about posts on my blog or the subject matter of my book:TELL ME. INBOX me. Do NOT judge me. Do NOT claim to “know” God “better” than me. SHOW me, tell me why.
ALSO. As you may already know, I’m everwhere. Here, Twitter, my Blog, The New Authors Fellowship blog, Inkpop. Find me.
If actions speak louder than words, why are we still talking? ~Me