Bring me a horizon Made of sunsets and of sin And make for me an altar To lay me down again

I had an idea for a horror story called 1991 but just ended up writing a poem instead, enjoy: 1991 The year horror takes shape another...

Sometimes we mix ourselves a potion of memory and regret and find ourselves wondering what might have been. There is something a bit like...

How many of us are slaves to our dreams? Even when things seem to be moving forward and firing on all cylinders we can find ourselves...

So much of our world is manufactured, if not by the political and financial forces around us than by our own minds. We sometimes get lost...