Back from the dead. I had that dream again where my own heart was sketched to look like nothing more than a clinched fist. You were trying to read my bleeding palm so I smeared it across a billboard just to remind us both that love is a role we play.
Wicker Park bound. Prepared to awake gold coated and wandering amongst the silver lined stories. Overcoming the reclusiveness of Pynchon.... we've all been dying for new outlets.
The ties that bind merely scratched our wrists in the last few months. Here's to the windy city and the ghosts of our futures.
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We will forever be a community of writers asking you to fall in (love) or be taken (hostage.) We only want to make you smile, and encourage you to pick up the pen, or start using those fingers on your keyboard!
