Be a part of something....

Well.. Im making a little book/zine.

Random writings.
Drawings.
Photos.
Life lessons.
You know... Good stuff.

If you would like a free copy.. Send me your address.
Like I said "free"... For a handbound piece of love, by yours truly.

Be a chum... Help me... Help you.

Forward info to:
Paulierossi@gmail.com

Shank you.

crassper

i am the ghost in the night.
i am the voice that echos through the hallows.
i am the demon that feeds your thoughts.
i am the soul crying out.
i am the wandering spirit of memories past.
i am the one touching your shoulder.
i am here.
now.
catch me while you can.

nights not soon forgotten

i still find paint in random locations after this painting.

ever time i find a dab of paint on a shirt or skin,

i can only smile to myself, only for a little bit.

a night not soon forgotten.

perspective and scale

after the third flight of the day you begin to question how much longer you can avoid deaths icy touch.

it doesn't help that i am penning this while i am a solid 20,000 plus feet above the earth in a winged silver twinkie rocking in every sorted direction.

it becomes increasingly difficult to steady a pen in such turbulent times.

thoughts become clouded at such a distance from solid ground.

it is comparable to breathing through a narrow straw.

the more you struggle to pull those dainty drags of air thorough such a dauntingly thin

pipeline, the head becomes woozy and your mind claws frantically for life.

at this height, while looking down it becomes abundantly clear how minuscule and delicate human life really is.

it is purely a matter of perspective.

perspective and scale.

yes scale.

let me explain.

the easiest way to put this scale idea in perspective for those currently reading this that are residing upon terra firma (solid ground the the layman), requires only a few items.

one: yourself.

two: your thumb.

three: a foreign object.

i.e. a building or possibly an extremely bored and well to do friend.

the options are truly endless.

and last, but certainly not least, distance.

now simply stand or sit, the choice is yours, a hefty distance away from your building, friend, whatever option you have decided upon.

stand/sit a far enough distance away from your chosen item so that its size, in scale, is much smaller than your own.

now lift your right or left hand, whichever suits your fancy, and extend your evolved opposable thumb and cover said object.

it becomes muted.

gone.

covered and non-existent to the human eye.

now, to really understand the fragility of it all, human existence that is, you may also incorporate your index finger of the same hand.

simply place your index finger visually above the top of your chosen object residing in the distance, and your opposable thumb directly underneath.

as if you were holding a tiny delicate toy.

now for the fragility part.

much like a vice, begin to bring your index finger and genetically superior opposable thumb together.

ultimately capturing and squishing the dwarfed sized object of your choice between the two.

feel free to incorporate sound effects of a squishing manner to get the full effect, and simply for the pure fun and enjoyment of the process.

CONGRATULATIONS!

you have now become a war monger!

a destroyer of worlds!

not bad for a high school dropout.

not that you are, but inevitably some individuals participating in this example of human fragility most likely are.

despite what popular belief says, the majority of them can read.

so i am told.

with your new found title of "world destroyer" imagine the view from 20,000 plus feet in the air.

how small and weak building look from such a great distance.

how unbearable tiny and ant-like the human race becomes.

how easy it would be to wipe it all clean in one fell swoop.

how with that one thumb you can wipe out an entire city, colony, race.

this is how some people in history have viewed the world.

how some find it so profoundly easy to rub out what they no longer desire to see, hear, or feel about the world.

and they did this on ground level.

it is all a matter of perspective and scale.

terrifying.

isn't it?

sketches of people who may be dead

life 9

she had siemese cat eyes.

the same crystal blue shade, and the matched cock-eyed stare.

the small beautiful face as if molded by god in the reflection of his angels.

her skin softer than any silk ever spun.

breasts and hips that would make any head turn and any eye wander.

all of this and still unsure of her beauty.

every trip out of those endless white blankets required a robe or sheet to hide this masterpiece.

those small snipets of time it took her to fully cover herself

when i could view her bare and untouched now belong to me.

stashed away for me and only me.

each like a beautiful photograph waiting to be developed for the world to see.

and the only one who needs to see this view the way my eyes have

is the siemese cat-eyed subject in front of me.

just so she can finally see what the world already knows.

POE-try

I sit here in silence.
In a resilant silence against the world.
Shut out and far away from eye's that pry.
This is when I hear an unfamiliar sound, my ears have never heard before.
A heavy tapping on my oaken door.
This is no raven rapping or tapping upon my door.
Just a heavy lumbering never heard before.
I remove myself from this cold floor.
to seek the source vibrating behind my door.
Slow and steady I trace a line across this floor.
To that huge and daunting oaken door.
With a hand upon the icy brass knob protruding from that gigantic door.
Pulling firm this sturdy door glides with ease across my wooden floor.
Nothing.
Nothingness lives outside my door.
What is that sound piercing my ears from against the oppisite side of my door.
A walkway and an open sky.
A trick of tricks upon my mind's eye.
Now I sit arms resting heavily upon my thighs.
I begin to drift away, by and by.
Drifting off into a sweet and gentle lullyby.
Only to be awakened by that unfamiliar sound driving loud behind my door.
Vibrating across this oaken floor.
My strength is gone.
Let this sound and its source rap heavily upon my oaken door.
I will lay here forever more.