tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25123221256255946712011-07-28T15:56:55.656-07:00You have found my little side of the web where I spin my tales of often incomplete, experimental fiction. Being a professional writer has its pressures and qualities, but there's nothing like weaving literary fabric no eyes have ever seen.Tyler Regasnoreply@blogger.comBlogger31100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2512322125625594671.post-29544127820409886512010-01-03T20:43:00.001-08:002010-01-03T20:43:40.809-08:00

I am. My world is a manifold prism, endlessly whirling around my center, only to be pushed relentlessly away again and again as they fight to push back. Seeds of creation seep into the edges of my world and blacken its edges. This is the way it is and I am not enraged and saddened. Those seeds melt into rivulets of crimson ochre and crawl across my starry expanse towards their undulating prizes.

Tyler Regasnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2512322125625594671.post-18343532442883731792009-11-20T16:32:00.000-08:002009-11-20T16:32:15.542-08:00

Tyler Regasnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2512322125625594671.post-73884487538784452302009-10-28T15:15:00.000-07:002009-10-28T15:15:11.495-07:00

I am so completely alone. It is as if I exist only in a realm of myself, and yet I am surrounded by millions of people. They clamor about, fatigue, grow strong to rebound, and clamor about some more, all the while smacking their lips around greasy logs of processed meats of unknown source and barking like mad jackals into the air. I am so completely alone. I am alone because I do not do the same

Tyler Regasnoreply@blogger.com0