Letting Life Lead
We gawked at the cold, avant-garde chandelier. Clear, glass tubes sharpened to icicle points crowded together forming a spiral dangling from invisible wire.
“Oh, at around 2800 degrees.”
Daddy mumbled, “Or if Uncle Sebastian talks to it.”
The Literary (or Junk) Writings of Leslie Muzingo
Poetry, History, Mythology
Confessions of a White Trash Hoe
Learn to Live
Fiction, Nonfiction, and Poetry Journal
TinyPurpleMe: Part Two
Illustrated Short Stories
Essays and reviews on narrative in games and new media
My reflections of life in general.