Book Cover

Had to make a Book Cover for a lulu book project, here's what I came up with.

Final Project

I converted a 101 word short story I wrote into a flash piece for my final project.

http://loki.stockton.edu/~stk26181/ruby1.html

Enjoy.

Six Word Short Story

My flash created six word short story

http://loki.stockton.edu/~stk26181/sixword.html

I like it, I definitely like the idea, but still I have to tweak it a bit.

Hypertext Project

Richard Stockton Clue for my hypertext project

http://loki.stockton.edu/~stk26181/splash.html

It's kind of beat, I gotta tweak it more.

Photo Gallery

Photo Gallery for Multimedia Production

http://loki.stockton.edu/~stk26181/index2.html

Stria of Gennari

Stria of Gennari

I love brains

White matter

Grey matter

Delicious brain matter.

The way the moonlight

Reflects off the cerebrospinal fluid

That cushions the brain like

Padding in a coffin.

I love the frontal lobe

I love chewing away abstract reasoning

Tasting cerebellum on my tongue

Grinding away sensory perception.

Feeling stronger than any anyone else

Livelier, and I let it be known

With a loud groan that echoes.

I love disturbing visuospatial processing

As I tear away a hunk of parietal lobe

I stare at a large strip of myelin across

Your occipital lobe, its whiteness

Too fit for a virgin on wedding day.

I dig my fingers into your temporal lobe

And eat away your memories of past

Romances, best friends, family.

The blood dripping down my chin

Glistening like crimson silk sheets

I can’t stop loving brains.

My love for synapses, neurons

My love for creating new kinsmen

Who cure the loneliness of eating alone.

Alright so I had to write a love poem about a certain activity
But this one is from a zombie's point of view
And zombies love brains

Half Empty

It’s dark, my eyes try to adjust.

My arms…they’re gone, they can’t be.

Try to move my legs…not happening.

I can’t blink…but can see all around me.

A cabinet of glass cups surrounding me,

hello cups—interesting morning…No response.

Light pours in the cabinet, reflecting

off the glass like tiny prisms. And

suddenly something grabs me.

A woman’s hand…Where is she taking me?

She lifts me up, a small clatter,

reverberating clinks echo through my body.

Suspended, I see an oak-trimmed kitchen.

I’m set down, the woman, a tall

brunette opens the refrigerator.

A soft light illuminates a myriad of

juices to refresh me. Ah water, good choice

hurry up please, bring it closer.

Slowly she pours the water into

me, it surges through inside me,

like a powerful orgasm reaching every nerve.

She raises me, her hands slowly

warming my cool exterior, her lips press

themselves on me, and slowly I’m drained.

It feels as if my brain has retreated

into my stomach, my head would be

hung over, useless on my shoulders.

If I don’t act quickly, surely I’ll

lose my consciousness to that

fiendish woman. Why me?

Water sloshes inside me as I’m

placed down again. Her oils smudge

my clear glass. I feel ugly and abused.

Please…no more…enough, but still she

raises me and throws away my excess

life into an aluminum basin, and leaves me.

Tiny droplets of my life run down my side.

Please dry me, make me shine amongst my

brothers again…let me be with my family.

I like to think if I ever wake up as a glass cup,
this would be pretty much how it goes. Well maybe
not the whole being drained part.

Auburn Leaves

Brisk air chills his body,
As he walks slowly to the
Summit. His body peaks
With excitement, his
Lover stands still, staring
Down at him. The Vermont
Weather does little to hide
The heat eminating from
His body. He touches her
Rough skin, fingernails
Tracing her every line.
She hardly moves,
Except the rustle
Of auburn leaves.

He unzips his jeans,
Reaching in, hand
Grasping his penis,
Tracing his veins with
His fingers, he pulls it
Out and shows his lover.
She silently acknowledges,
He finds her opening, sliding
His fingers slowly in, trying
To warm her coarse, cold
Body. Warm juices seep
Out from her womb.
He breathes in the scent,
The sweetness even
Reaching his tongue.
She doesn't moan, only
The rustle of auburn leaves.

His fingers pull out,
Wet, sticky, threads of
Her juice between his
Knuckles, tracing the
Scars carved into
Her body.He slides
His penis slowly in
Pentrating her canal,
He thrusts repeatedly,
And slowly fills her
With his own juices.
She makes no protests
Says no sound. Only the
Rustle Of auburn leaves.

He walks away, the grey
Sky accentuating his
Disheveled appearance
Still she stands on
The frozen hilltop, used,
Yet uncaring. Semen,
Still pouring from her,
Dripping into the grass.
He inches into his Tacoma,
His dick stuck to his jeans.
Driving away he hears only
The rustle of auburn leaves.

Although this poem needs a bit of tweaking
I'm happy with the idea that it's about
Dendrophilia, crazy.

Conclusive Proof

My friend Ray and Stefans...
Seperated at Birth?