Basquiat Stories

"Let's go. We have to make it back before the sun sets." However his attention was fixated to the sky. His bright eyes were illuminated by the descending light, while countless thoughts raced through his mind. "Hey." He turned to him with a blank expression. His sunset-tinted eyes searched for any kind of restlessness in his friend's dark gaze. . . . . . . "Why don't we escape?" Disclaimer: Includes sensitive concepts.

A Lolita from the city 🍒💫

The New York Artworld, The Way It Was....... When It Was...

poems from the encyclopedia of my mind.

A short, 677 word essay reflecting on the push-and-pull every tortured artist feels, asking the question - why do so many writers, singers, creators - die so young? What is it about the creative mind that has driven so many to such dark places? And what fuels the artist to truly live?