Out Of The Hole_The Witch of Hamilton_Aging Improves the Flavor_Necessity
Catalog Guide:
Out Of The Hole
He hadn't really wanted to come up here in the first place, BUT finally gave in to the pleas of the inner voice that had KEPT nagging at him that he NEEDED some time to HIMSELF."MORE!!? That would BE selfish of you!", the 'other' inner voice had BLURTED out one too many times. He had finally had it with that demon[s] that ALWAYS had something TOXIC to say. And ever since he had heard it, he couldn't help but replay to himself the verses from the trackwww.onedoor.cc "Change" by a popular artist named NF, "Oh you want to tell me something NEGATIVE! I don't want to hear what you think." And so with that he p...
The Witch of Hamilton
Hello Darkness, my old friend echoes through my mind as I lay on satin cushions. The air touching my exposed skin, utterly still, and the silence surrounding me, suffocating. No hope, no means of reconciliation. Here was my new home, until all is no more. Had I’d known where I would ultimately end up, I never would have gotten mixed up with the Amanda, whom the locals nicknamed the Witch of Hamilton. Amanda was a beautiful young woman who’d recently moved to town. Though her looks were alluring, something deeper, dark, lingered in her soul. Instinctively, people would do all means to avoid he...
Aging Improves the Flavor
Here I am, trying to remember something from centuries ago, and I’ll be damned if it isn’t almost impossible. I may have bitten off more than I can chew. My cooking group decided to do this, not me. Still, I didn’t want to protest, and accepted the challenge. That’s the whole problem. I’ll try to explain. We are supposed to prepare a baked good that was a signature creation by a grandparent. This is going to be painful. What follows should explain why.Baked goods? Hmmm... I have very few memories of my grandmother, but they would fill a book. Of the few I do have, at least half are food-relat...
Necessity
“Is this really necessary?” her words echoing in my head as I nailed the last board over the door, and made sure the potato gun was loaded. “They are coming for me, I know it. I can feel it in my bones. It’s like a tambourine in my chest chanting a tune I’ve never heard before.” “Why?” “Why, What?” That was a good question. One I might have asked myself had it not been for the tambourine concerto, and the fact I was out of potatoes, and wasn’t sure if apples or oranges would have a similar deterrent effect. It shouldn’t have been but probably couldn’t have been avoided, given the time of yea...