Jeremy Baker > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

Reality continues to erode my fantasy grip on life, itself a novel explanation for that which may embody my existence. Rifle through the rivers of ..

I’ve killed millions of pixels, destroyed worlds, armies and yet somehow always managed to survive. No sounds, no stains to show where o..

If I should glimpse heaven before you, know that I am not more worthy nor more sinless, just more weary and more glad. Know this too: I lived, l..

The Spirit of our Earth is weeping, sleeping, comatose, non mentos compos. A sinuous, sensuous, tenuous grasp is all that remains; fabricate..

The Craven, settled in the west, must sleep always with one eye open lest any lingering morality catch him unawares. No comfort found from within..

Peace must die, a sacrificial lamb. Our way of life is worth too much, in profit terms, to allow for peace to reign. Unused weapons are useless we..

Jai guru deva, ohmmm ... And so my tuneless chant rambles and drones to a one-time iconoclast and idealist, now just an imaginary image, fadi..

Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Time to move on, methinks, merrily and without melancholy. The memories that remain, you can keep. So much g..

Men don’t cry very often. Not for lack of tears, nor for lack of opportunity; the tougher the target, the greater the incentive ..

Trenches remain long after the fighting finishes - they change sides, get enlarged or filled in, yet still they remain, ever ready, ever alert, e..