Fiction

Just finished reading Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom. The quick summary? Everybody lies. And because everyone lies they then try to get away from their lying selves, but it’s hard to get away and be free because in the end everyone lies – and why would you run away from yourself

Here, I'll digress. So the sea, like the mango tree, may be (I can't definitively say, as this is only my own interpretation of a boy's psychological state, one who would grow up and.. ) an oasis, a fortress of solitude for the to-be superman, a hideout cum monastery, the grove of a bodhi tree.

But here's what Thông didn't do.  He didn't thrust the mangoes into his pockets (on the side of his shorts, which were brown).  He didn't climb down and exit the garden of old mister Lưu.

Today words popped off my brain and into words.  Too fast to construct effectively - I'll go back and flesh out and do surgery later.  For now, just get the words.

the bronze sunlight peeked underneath steely clouds, glinting playfully at the departed temperamental rain; bouncing citrus hues off the dark shiny puddles splayed along the slick sidewalks, matted by ivory cherry blossoms. the streetlights popped emerald shadows off rubied tenements, as the hopeful dusk reveled in the coming of the

It’s like I’m living inside a bubble. Impervious to external going ons, but one prick and the fragile womb bursts.