Comments Posted By Eric Harrell

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Patterned slashes dappled down his cloak. A handsome, as all foretold. You could spot him out of a crowd, as easily as you could tell apart a farmer’s hat from a crown. His grizzled cheek sought out the meek and laid a spell upon them as if covering a mattress with a blanket. In the heart of the city of Toronto, his striped ego was all he ever needed to do his business with these people.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.14.2015 @ 10:59 am


The joke came at the worst time. As the two women laughed and their serious demeanour was derailed, they had a temporary lapse in sympathy. The furniture had tilted the lot and threatened to twist the metal. But lost in the glee, the two comedians revelled in selfish consideration.

The mahogany table fell off the track as the train did a dance around the car lot. Screeching horror came at a terminal stop. The earth did its best to reduce the casualties but life, plants and organisms, had been run over. The joke had lost its place.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.12.2015 @ 6:52 pm


“Stand up” They said, as I sat back down. Defiance was my best trait, you know. I longed for admonishment, outside interference that disrupted my own habitual ruin. Terrible habits of procrastination and laziness that was surely to get me fired, one day.

So I broke the rules and excitedly looked forward to punishment. If I couldn’t set myself straight, I’d rely on someone’s pejorative treatment.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 10.28.2015 @ 9:43 am


The hoe drudged through the mud of the swamp land.
“We can’t field here Josef.”
“We have to.”

The day was long for these Swampland farmers. They would continue to toil amongst the fetid rot of the languished trees and burned-out homes. All for the chance for renewal, for an unexpected bounty.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.09.2014 @ 3:52 pm


I sat with my knees bare on those granite floors for over a year till the skin wore through the fabric and I was as skinny as a twig. Most bow before the lord who say he’s God but I knelled. I begged like so many for an answer, pleading for a purpose.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 08.23.2014 @ 10:15 am


The colonel put pen to paper and started the letter of recommendation.
“A fine young lad…” He paused, unable to muster up any more of a description without spewing out a lie. So he took it home with him, to write in his leisure but it remained on his coffee table for quite some time. Finally, as the paper began to peel and moss had grown over the ruin that use to be his home, he remembered to finish the recommendation. “…and a hero in his final moment.”

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 12.11.2013 @ 5:14 pm


Where do my creative juices go? Do they roll down the nerves in my fingertips, drool unto the keyboard, seeping into the recesses of the keys and flow down into the computer? There is a texture that acts like a map. Like denim jeans they have grooves and purposeful wears. As a texture, we act into it, as we have contact with it. Where does my inspiration go, perhaps into the casual – into the denim?

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.09.2013 @ 9:50 pm


How can things be expected to be brisk when the best is expected? It seems contrary to think this way. Really what you seek is the best possible product or project given the time allotted. Wouldn’t that support cutting corners? Efficiency is now the most efficient appearance of the best possible product.

– This is a journal entry from a frustrated layman.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 10.28.2013 @ 10:09 pm


The saliva cooled on the adhesive strip before Alexandria had a chance to seal it. “Shoot!” She sighed, hand upon cheek as she gazed out onto the lively street though the window of her office. She pictured old corner newspaper boys and women stepping down from carriages. Horse hoofs clucking on the cobblestone road, a few girls running and top hats discussing business over their brunch. Her boss interrupted, “you’ve been licking those for the last five minutes.” Alexandria looked at the envelop, flapped it like a wing and looked back at her boss, “sorry, day-dreaming again.” He smiled, astonished by some prospect.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 10.14.2013 @ 3:40 pm


One step from here to freedom, and one loose brick to send me back down into my punishment. That’s the thought that’s kept me from scaling those low walls. Even with the hellish prison reality, I can’t seem to overcome my fear of failure. I toss at night thinking about it, pick at my skin and it chips off. Turns out I’m as slimy as they claim.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 10.12.2013 @ 1:04 am


They loomed above me, so that I was like a flea amongst a quiver of arrows. Is there the possibility that these pines could be used so by a being at the nigh of our contemplation? These organic beings merely constructed tools. It puts things into perspective, even by considering the improbable. This forest of pines loses its mystery.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 10.08.2013 @ 9:06 pm


It was an exodus of biblical proportions, the land had been scoured and now the life left the land. My family hadn’t been inconvenienced as much as others I knew. I’d heard that Yorgen had just spent his life savings on something he had to leave behind. Sara left her father’s grave. Dartaniel had been successful there. We were all displaced however, and such a grievance was not lessened by a lack of things left behind.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 09.26.2013 @ 9:47 am


Should I believe that flames can be eternal? Woes so succinct from sin that one poisoned action can be judged. If such a thing existed, would not all tormented beings, short of been given the chance to contemplate his torment in some existential tally, be doomed to hell? That is what some doctrines believe and they teach to justify this, or do they use this justification to teach? The simple truth is, a miserable life will begot a miserable individual and such an unfortunate place such as Hell is home to these rather than the wicked.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 09.22.2013 @ 9:40 pm


The drought caused the crops to wither and grow black. John’s labours had been disrupted only months before during the last days of winter but once again nature was a malevolent force. As a Canadian he had wrestled with this notion as his life, in his readings and in his work. Now, as an American farmer, he could no longer dodge his heritage.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 09.16.2013 @ 3:24 pm


My first notion is to write about a state senator smuggling his paraphernalia and hiding his habits but they’ve had enough attention. Shouldn’t we all have our eccentricities and be allowed a transgression or two? Obviously not in the criminal sense but too often have non-criminal non-normative habits been found and publicized, what a politicians fancies is nothing what I care about but perhaps what they stand for might. This is, I guess, why we care.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 09.15.2013 @ 5:07 pm


I am overjoyed, no longer. I don’t have that luxury with this pile of papers on my desk. That feeling had lived inside of me weeks after my promotion, but the realization had turned that feeling into a weight. Even now I can feel it pulling me down, my eyes hardly able to stay open. My arms not having the motivation to get started and my spirit, simply chained. Yet I persevere, even this feeling, shall be lifted.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 09.14.2013 @ 4:05 pm


Dust collected on its rim as I spied its content empty. Who had drunken from this old bottle? I walked across the room of the saloon, its planks creaked for every step. I know not particularly why, but my father’s alcoholism came to mind. The bottles on the counters drudged up by my hand in a similar manner.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 08.29.2013 @ 12:28 pm


An excuse to be weak. A façade of charisma. A pseudo-strength. Beer is the word, alcohol is the subject. Justify the destructive nature. Pilfering your liver’s health and poisoning your mind.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 05.07.2013 @ 11:32 am


I clasp the seven cards within my hand and the moment will filled with apprehension. My sweaty palms clung to the cards as I clung to the edge of my seat, hoping, expecting and appreciating my opponents move. He made it, I made mine. Fortune favoured me today, though I shall not anything to hold its sway. Once in turn for me, is another against me and I absolute accept that.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 04.27.2013 @ 10:33 pm


How I’d wished this morning for failure, instead my life attends to bowling. Not the sport, no, recalling a scene of that would be too easy but rather the process of making a ceramic bowl part of Kizaemon’s bowl technique of colonial Japan, I seek to create the fragmented and ordinary pieces. The most ordinary exhibit the greatest mystery.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 04.26.2013 @ 12:00 am


Shelly was a planter, things that weren’t hers grew as seeds in whatever she sowed. Burns wasn’t certainly conniving nor did he harbour much hate, yet the seed in his mind put his entire character at stake. Finally at the scene where the two of them meet, Shelly tells Burns a truth to water the seed and salt his wounds, the anger brewed and then Burns tragically set what he loved most on Fire. All ends are ominous as the thought of them is neither sadistic nor twisted yet instead, quite profound.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 04.24.2013 @ 11:48 am


Magenta world colliding sundered the universe in two, a speckled black paste filling the abyssal cracks. Shouldn’t have fallen, should have never been but forces of reality came to an untimely conclusion. Alteration caused the fact.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 04.22.2013 @ 4:20 am


It has been a while, like a plaster cast breaking free I unfurl my brow and edge my fingers over the keyboard. I picture a choir in the background, an ominous call like those in churches as I begin to type. The music swells as I burrow into my work, my head cast forward (the drums start now), my fingers fully immersed into the writer’s spirit (the voices thrum in harsh heaves) and I finish with a period and sit back to marvel the work, reclining as the music fades…

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 04.20.2013 @ 1:49 pm


We dropped the bag of flour on the floor when we saw what was on the horizon. The bag seal popped off and the white powder threw itself like a wave across the floor, taking the shape of the tiles as another cloud of light flour lifted into our faces. We couldn’t take our eyes off the horizon, it was as black as night long past dawn, a cloud of white in the distance and a creeping wave was rushing towards us.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 04.07.2013 @ 8:47 am


Vines up my University buildings, walking on the adjacent side-walk, they just seem like an infection. Since when have ivy vines become synonymous with academic prowess, is academic prowess even a feat? Shouldn’t we decry those who subsist on the finances of their parents and recluses who think they are more entitled than others for it? I guess my respect for a man or woman juggling jobs and dreams have no place here. What’s disheartening is that I see no avenue to change any of that.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 04.04.2013 @ 6:22 pm


Thrust me back through that hole, past the sesame stocks, past that scorched ground, into the granulations of its creator.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 04.03.2013 @ 6:12 pm


Big ol’ Brown was like a tornado come this way through Kansas. Swirling eddies for his beards and a cackle to sheer off the hair that makes you feel like a man. He’ll take your woman and show you a joke about what’s black and blue. Better to stay clear, big wigs don’t mean nothing to this bat outta hell!

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 03.28.2013 @ 9:20 am


A shrill in the distance as we march. Our boots plunging into the mud with every precise step. Drums keep tempo behind us and we stare at the heart of the republic. Our goal, Rome. Our music, in our hearts. We pine for vengeance, knowing that we would achieve fragment of it. Crixus, Agron. Lead us as leaders, yet I do not serve in shackles. I follow in freedom, despite how fortune favours us. To be legends, the sowers of fear in the lion that is the Roman Empire. My boots carry me to that end.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 03.24.2013 @ 10:46 am


Beware the dog of my old neighbour’s yard, he barks and may have an appetite for little boys. How do I know? We’ll little wild Bill, you bet that I swear that I’ve seen that old crone invite Nebraska Huey, yes the one that don’t come around here anymore. You know why? Old Nana next door invited him over and I heard the dog hollering later that day. Come morning fence bled red from the other side, all I heard was that dog chewing.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 03.21.2013 @ 7:33 am


It pained me to see you go, walk through that door with your braids waving goodbye. Know that I haven’t forgotten you, your sweet smile and your fragrance. How everyone has influenced me, and how many more times I’ve been influenced by you. I bid you adieu, my love, my comfort…my sweet, lovely, innocence.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 03.19.2013 @ 1:37 pm

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