#half-finished

Captain Jason Winthrow stared at the betta swimming around their 200 gallon planted tank.

“Hey Bess?” He asked.

His longtime partner, Bess Harding, spared him a glimpse, the blue of her eyes obscured by a film of green cybernetics.

“Yeah?” She asked.

“Why did you get a betta?”

Bess smiled.

“They’re independent. I like that in a fish. There are a lot of little critters for her to eat in there, and I’ve got a bunch of shrimp in there for if some rookie feeds her extra.”

Jason was about to suggest that she get another fish to keep her betta company when he saw a glint of metallic copper through the pearlweed.

“Uhh.. what’re those?”

“Waste disposal units. Gabriel helped me design them.” Bess responded.

Jason watched Bess’s tank before blurting out. “I should get a fish!”

Bess laughed.

I’m not dead!

I just got the flu. Then I got a cold. Then I got the flu with complications. Spent Christmas Eve in the hospital. It was very memorable.

In terms of health I’m feeling a bit better, but I have minimal energy for starting things, and zero energy for finishing anything. 

i haven’t posted anything in a while but here’s a thing that’s half-finished

So this is half finished; but it's been laying around in my folders for months. So have a half-done drawing.

Sometimes, it’s better to just tell stories. People aren’t always satisfied with a smile or a laugh... You have to give them something raw. Even if you spout off a billion hard facts, statistics, true-isms, they won’t be satisfied. So, you have to tell a story. They won’t be satisfied with silence. They won’t believe you. So you have to given them pretty words and lost causes and underdogs and heros or snapshots and contemplations and tragedy. They’ll only believe the stories.

Funny, the stories don’t have to be true.

I find it so easy to spin those tales, making myself happy, satisfied, grateful, mediocre... But are they true? The stories change too much. If they took the time, they would notice the obvious contradictions... But they don’t take the time. So, you can weave any story you want... They aren’t true.

You’re not honest. Not completely. 

I could tell them that you’re silver...like diamonds against cold windows. That you make my outlook shine on the world I see. That thoughts of you decorate dark spaces and muddy fields, dressing thoughts in evening jewels.

spiked, in despite of our desire

to destroy ourselves, preach about

false prothrets who are fleeting,

and fleeing from the light, hail Mary

these miniscule moments when we