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Gilmore Girls Fanfic

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 Time moves backwards, and the end is known from the beginning. *** In a Gilmore Girls alternate universe, Lorelai and Chris are together. They've stayed together, and are raising their only child, Rory, a precocious, starry-eyed, well-intentioned teenager living in the same small New England town, brilliant at school if she applied herself. Very rich, she feels the effects of a peculiar isolation and, having effortlessly mastered the studies required of her, immerses herself in unorthodox ones. Still liberal by vice of being a product of her time as we all are, but perhaps in a less dogmatically centrist way, Rory was early on raised a Christian by her grandparents but has now branched into other systems of belief, finding the doctrines of the church unsatisfactory to explain the world as it unfolds around her. She has a thought, and it soon materializes. The townsfolk are animated by her moves, and seem to slowly spin around her as if pulled in by the gravity of her narrative
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Someone With No Insecurities

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 A short story I wrote in high school that I believe was inspired by a dream. It's a snapshot of the interior life of a girl with no insecurities. I'm not going to bother editing it. -----------------------------------------------------   Someone With No Insecurities Next thing she knew, Eva was wide awake after a typically deep and restful night of sleep. Next door, her sister began a ritual of groans and complaints that had become as commonplace as the sunrise. “Wow, she must be having yet another crisis of ‘I have nothing to wear and Oh My God the world is ending,’” Eva thought to herself as she rolled her eyes and picked out a sunny t-shirt and shorts without particular care. While Cecilia gossiped away on her new baby-pink cell – a detail Eva snickered at as she threw her cell-phone-free bag into the passenger seat and sat her short self into the car – Eva looked around out the window, her neck craned out, her head up high and her mouth in a broad smile, and took in
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DisneyDisney!

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It was a beautiful day in a hell-hole town. Perfect weather broke up a Biblical torrent of week-long rains. The last day of the best city festival had wrapped the community in a cozy Autumnal sweater. And the football team had just won a close and incredible game – a contender for game of the year – full of inexplicable turns of fate that subtly hinted at a watchful and benevolent eye of God batting his lashes at them from beyond the clouds. Today behold – he cast his favor in their direction. He couldn't believe it. A fumble, a pick, a missed field goal, and a fifty-one-yard run for a touchdown, in the last two minutes, for a complete table-turning, neck-biting, thumb-sucking, foot-jobbing turnabout, twice ? It was unreal. “ That was un reaal ,” somebody plainly beamed to somebody else, walking past where he sat in the public square, observing the crowd from no distinct point within it. “ Back to the grind tomorrow!” his friend replied. “ What a way to end the weekend!”
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Old poem - Lost in the Forest

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 old unedited poem from 6/9/2023 - part of Lost in the Forest (story I am forever working on, illustrated poems) *********   The true king wanders just like you draped in rags cut on the woods he need not hide inside a tower – he walks all over the earth and calls it home So long you could not recognize him, sad eyes lonesome gazing forward turned away from problems, burdens, disillusioned with their illusory world Demon burden springs a dark dream so seductive, sheep stay sleeping just to see the storm upon the sea to watch the moon go dark And you, queen, searched for flashing eyes in shadows, shapes come forth from only corners who would never adore you, never tell you love is free Many times you've seen his shadow, and tried to pull him by his clothes, embrace you – but it always goes, wandering when light shows he is not the king The long lost king, you thought he was asleep but he was wandering across the forest home and he never did abandon
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Men and their Names

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  No more names on my arm, my God, no more names on my heart. Each name is the song of a different Earth; speaking it, the map must rewrite. Then all of my reasons are reasons no more; all of my reasons disappeared. A coherent “why” explains the wind and the trail that led me here. If that why is no longer relevant, if the reason has disappeared, then so has the trail that explains why I'm here; and the wind that cannot be held never blew. You touch me; and you lie to me. You say you are like me. My power is to embellish you, but “you” are your own country. And when I become your satellite, because you have pulled me in, my mind must rewrite my history, and the truth of what I'm in. A woman is the field upon which battling voices fall; her hearing is reality-inducing attention. Your voice sounds so under my skin... it fits so well with your eyes. Your voice becomes the native tongue with which I describe the world. No more names on my skin, my God. No more hands to spin. An hou
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