Category: Yo Ivanhoe

—Mark Rothko, Untitled, 1953 –Zellar, Basement Window, 2005 Monsieur Centrine was a fierce proponent of impossibility. That’s not to say he was one of these characters who will insist that anything is possible. Quite the contrary, in fact. Mssr. Centrine believed that life, the world, and every aspiration of the human heart represented a thoroughly…

If you’re looking for real life –whatever that is– I’m afraid you’ll have to go somewhere else. This is all in my head. There’s nothing real here. These are merely the words that roll down my fingers in the middle of the night as I wait for the light to come fetch me. Some of…

The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, o God, thou wilt not despise. –Psalms, 51-17

How many words do you think you can run through your head in a day? It all depends on how many words you have in you, am I right? Images, though, they’re something else; they represent a bigger, more universal language. All you need to do is look around and keep your eyes open. Yet…

I always wanted to be the gun on the table in the first act. I always wanted to be the mysterious stranger arriving in an unfamiliar town with a sack full of magic corn. I always wanted to be the troll who lived under the bridge and the wise old man on the mountain. I…

For the last week I’ve been mucking around in this little magazine I picked up in a junk shop somewhere. The thing is called Reason, and it’s subtitled “A Monthly Journal Devoted to Psychic Science, Education, Healing, Success and Social Reform.” Come now let us reason, it says on the masthead. The issue I have…