Category: Poetry and Prose
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The clot
The other night I dreamed that a clot grew inside of me. However, not one of organic matter, but rather this intangible sorrow manifesting in corporeal form like a tumor. I felt it too. As it grew, I felt it like a blaze sending that sensation of a white-hot, emotional burn nothing can sooth through…
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Podcast: You are always being manipulated.
Whether it’s a commercial, your government or people on the street, you are being manipulated or something is always trying to manipulate you. For better or worse, that is the culture that we’ve built. In this episode of Inside the Mind of Daniel Thompson, I talk about how certain phrases and pop-knowledge from society and…
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Sometimes, I’m okay.
Sometimes, I’m okay. I wake up, brush my teeth, Forget all my bullshit, And bravely face the day. Sometimes I lie around And decay. Sometimes God is close in my ears, And the gospel choir hums Simple hymns along To my misery throughout these years, Accompanied by the cries of saints And sinner’s tears. Sometimes…
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Lady Liberty and Uncle Sam walk into a bar.
A lady lights a cigarette in the corner with a lamp made green by patina she holds in her hand. In front of her a man in a fine suit and top hat looks around the bar with a sense of importance — not that he thinks he’ll find anything of importance, but that he…
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PODCAST: ‘Love, Literature and Time’
Love — or my view of it — and the literature I read have often been linked in my mind, with one informing the other. Take a walk with me through some examples of this relationship and how it has shaped how I’ve looked at love throughout my life. I’ll also tell you where I…
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With nothing. And no one.
He sits alone at a table smoking a cigarette. Well, alone and not alone. Throughout the day across from him will sit old friends, lovers, his parents, brothers … the list goes on and on. The only limit being who he can remember well enough to be able to still hear their voice talking back…
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Natural American Spirit, Black
Turning and returning, Becoming and unbecoming, We all saunter home. Life hadn’t been The extravagant feast We had been expecting. Left starving and cold, We walked the streets, Weary ghosts longing for a bed. Dead things better off living, Among the living things better off dead.
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Write your own future
There’s something that the philosopher Heraclitus said way back in ancient Greece that I think of lately. Those words are, ”No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.” In essence, it means we are in a continual state of becoming. The only…
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Keep. Trying.
It’s been a long time since I could tell you where I fit into things with any amount of certainty. To myself, I have become this piece that goes to some possibly important machine or puzzle or song that got dropped somewhere or didn’t make it back into the box so that the picture could…
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This place isn’t meant for beautiful things.
I think that may be why you had to leave it. You were sunshine contained behind the dark screen of society’s fading humanity. You were a songbird watching machines tearing down the trees whose branches were where you’d found your voice. You were a complex, expressionist painting taken for granted by fools who loved simple,…