Mark Ræl: An Introduction

To follow in the footsteps of dozens of creative individuals; a stepping stool of wisdom, brought down slowly with words and time; To sweep the beams and buttresses of the overhead with thought; To see the world as spines as a series of circles and rhombi, broken down, layered, layered, layered; To know that reality … Continue reading Mark Ræl: An Introduction



It's stretched thin, like how I imagine water feels when it is frozen too quickly; as a whole, just a cube of cold matter, slightly larger than it was, something perfect for hot, Early September in the South West, on closer inspection, this water is screaming from expansion, swollen beyond recognition by fellow molecules. but … Continue reading Ice


It is done finished steps have been taken the signatures are signed with pens of hollow souls rolled up dollar bills and one cracked mirror two drops of blood, stretching to reach one another Adam and God sitting on a reflective Sistine Chapel fifteen minutes, sore, broken, dry, wiping away, nothing there, nothing there, nothing, … Continue reading Apathy

Thinking Inkly: Looking For You, Wherever You Are

It's difficult to sit down and just write anything. there are confines, rules, set regulations that come to the tips of the fingers when one deems it time to create. It's as if something immediately wedges itself between the keyboard and the brain. And what's between the keyboard and you? I can't quite say. Infinite … Continue reading Thinking Inkly: Looking For You, Wherever You Are

Smelling Smoke

Lost, somewhere among the crashing and burning of the forest, Far off from my apartment on Meadows but you can smell the smoke over the flowers and the clumps of long-stemmed grass. Far gone, lost to dreams and paintings, Summer burning away everything, Apollo too close to sage, an attempt to naturally pull more carbon … Continue reading Smelling Smoke

Ash (or “Shy Boy”)

I wish the words would spill out sand crashing from the oversized hourglass of my shattered mouth my teeth so many shards that I can't quite let you put your finger on; possible that it would or could pad the way from the cuts across my tongue words are sharp teeth and bits of rock, … Continue reading Ash (or “Shy Boy”)