Deep winter, full moon, subtle rhythm of skis hissing through snow just-crystallized after a day of drifting flakes. No firm path, just skirting the deep wood where nobody with good sense enters after dark. Continue reading
Pushing the goggles back on her forehead, she waved away the acrid smoke and smiled. Continue reading
poetry, fiction, art, books, retro
A dose of fetish. Good friends. An incomparable muse.
It's All True, None of It's True. Don't Ask.
Words of a clarklike female
A writing blog by H.R.R. Gorman
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Fiction Writing
Lance Greenfield - Night Writer
“Beauty was not simply something to behold; it was something one could do.” – Toni Morrison
Walk On The Wild Side
