(Photo taken by me)
Venice Beach ain’t like the Italian counterpart. It’s an artist’s sun-blazed canvas with wino alcoholism spread all across the vibrant stitching. Moved from the eastern apple when my rent became a debt obligation and decided to roam West. The ocean Pacific blue haunts my realism like a Kubrick film gone autobiographical, but I love it out here. I really, very much do.
Searching for new reads?
Poetry about Strange Cars or maybe a fictional novel journal about a Dioramist protagonist who struggles with a passion for writing and a former love? Be sure to check out my published wares on Amazon if you’re interested.
Also, be sure to find me on Instagram @ blankpagesofmine and say hello!