"There is one good: knowledge, and one evil: ignorance." -Socrates
I live in DC. I'm 22. I love art, though I'm no artist. I write to get my soul back, since I seemed to have lost it somewhere between binge drinking and working a mindless job.
These are my media: creative fiction and nonfiction, prose, poetry, photography and an occasional rant.
This site is more or less anonymous, as I'd prefer to keep my personal writing away from people I know. Strangers are cool, though (as is constructive criticism)!
I walk on their slate clean sidewalks under their glass towers, feel their heat, know their power and want none of it and all of it.
I used to be one of them, but traded in suits for jeans, prestige for anonymity, a clean, stark office for an air conditioner that wheezes out lukewarm gas.
Who are they?
Those who live on the pulse of the world, paying for their nobility with dark jackets and shiny shoes in tow.
But am I one of them?
Was I faking it then, or now?