the agony of the unknown

I got deeper into the darkness, chasing after that multicolored light. I basked myself in its warm and finally tangible embrace. I was safe from the cries of the misconstrued, Ol’ Bat, Teenybopper, The Specialist, and the whole fucking lot of them. I hid under a blanket of roses for awhile and refused to appear despite their calls to come out and play. When I was eventually found, all I could do was listen to what they had to say. The longer I laid under that blanket of roses, the harder it became to move – I knew I was slowly paralyzing myself. I gnawed my way through the increasingly tightening vines, blood dripping from my thorn bitten lips. I stood up.

“Nice to see you again!” they all shouted earnestly.

I was an emotional wreck that was behaving true to form but I silently chided myself because they all were too. They were giggling and puking and talking too much and not talking enough and crying and dying and living and learning and loving and dying…

The Specialist threw me a basketball and apologized for hitting me in the face with it multiple times before.

“You must think I’m the most gullible person here!” I shouted.

the horror of anticipation

He threw himself on the ground and showed me his belly, as a sign of his vulnerability. I sighed. We played War, we played Manhunt, we played Hide-N’-Go-Seek , we played Poker, we played Chess. The Specialist had an arsenal of people and/or props and a tool-kit that dated back before I was even a prayer in my mother’s throat. I had just myself to rely on towards winning these games. Now, naturally it would be assumed that he would win for he had the advantage of premeditation, scholastic connections, and a penchant for hazing the new kid. But call it beginner’s luck because I held my own. When our final game was finished we looked towards the sky for our score cards. We looked back down and slowly met each other’s gaze upon the realization and the absolute horror of a stalemate.

back to the drawing board



Obstructed Reality


I built a podium made of sticks and mud. I held a press conference for all of the birds and beasts in the wilderness. The world was getting smaller and I began to speak of sadness, not judgment. Love was the theme. The Specialist was there along with our mutual friends. Ol’ Bat was tapping her foot to a rhythm in her head. Teenybopper was feeding the ducks. A man with a ring and a woman with a chastity belt got tangled up in a booby trap and I was almost curious enough to go see if they were all right but I figured that would come in time. The Woods would probably devour me before my speech was over but it didn’t really matter anymore.

“The thing about me is that I will always believe in fairy tales even as I’m being constantly reminded that they don’t exist. Don’t you know that I’m your little princess, your loyal dog that continues to get beaten? I can love hard and fast and long and come on too strong all in the name of staking claim over something invisible to the untrained eye. When people look upon my youthful countenance, they pinch my cheeks and flatter me with meaningless compliments often reserved for toddlers and the pitied. ‘You’re so cute,’ is a common phrase uttered by those who think I don’t know how the world works.

I am your child bride and I stand for principles that crumble as soon as doors are closed. I am your bitter old woman that trusts very few. I am typical and pure and evil and joyful and a bundle of controlled rage. I live in the mouths of the forgotten and in the minds who own vast amounts of landscape…”

I was beginning to unravel into nothingness.

“Despite it all, I wish never to become so jaded and disconnected from myself and others that I fail to see any light in this life…” I coughed, failing.

I paused, noticing a flash of multicolored light that temporarily blinded me. I put a hand to my face to help shield my eyes and squinted into the distance.

“LOVE IS MOSTLY PAIN!” shouted a blurry figure dressed in black.

“What?!” I shouted back to an unresponsive audience.

I got off the stage and went searching into the darkness.



When you finally get outside of that little town that you live in and breathe different air, know this, in order to see, you must be seen. I encourage walks down dirty, snow-covered streets, intentionally wearing flip flops in the winter. Wear beautiful garments and forget your name for awhile. With vulnerability comes strength. Make the city cry; let its glitter bleed out into the pavement. Scream at the universe with fury and shaking fists: I EXIST, I EXIST, I PROMISE, I EXIST – I THINK!

If you need a quick break from screaming “I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU, YOU IDIOT” into glass bottles, take a step back and think about what that really means. Look around you and follow whatever path your feet lead you to. Dance like everyone and no one is watching. Stop behaving like a child. It’s going to be okay.

You’ll soon return to your home in that little town that you live in where a party of intellectuals will be flooding the space outside of your door with their innovative conversations. Their voices will muddle together in a strange cacophony and will instantly remind you of your own constantly running inner monologue. With voices piling on top of voices, you might actually catch a bit of truth somewhere. Your life is oh so precious and fleeting, attack it with every last breath.

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Gump Penetrates

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I do love a good wet nose photo op! I get interviewed by the infamous Gump Tibbs! What a delight!

Originally posted on The Lankville Daily News:

By Gump Tibbs By Gump Tibbs

It’s time for another penetrating interview with Gump Tibbs. Today, Gump interviews contributing female Sarah Samways.

GT: So, you have that little area in the paper where you are a female who contributes?

SS: Yes, I started out covering the economics/business section but it quickly grew into other things like interviewing old ladies in the middle of nowhere who would push me into empty pickle barrels. It’s been quite the rush!

GT: Absolutely fascinating! Do you often contribute?

Samways in the Snow. It's been snowing a lot. Samways in the Snow. It’s been snowing a lot.

SS: I contribute as much as possible. If I’m not eating, sleeping, or wrestling with condiments, I’m contributing. Lankville is an interesting place with lots of people begging for their stories to be told. It’s a journalistic endeavor that I’m proud to be a part of.

GT: Wait, they beg?

SS: Actually, they kind of demand it. People often see…

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Your likeness doesn’t belong to you. I like to play around with my own image from time to time, between banging my head against the proverbial wall, in the hopes that I’ll get to know myself a little better. The #selfie is the new form of self-portraiture and its potential goes beyond glamour shots of celebrity ass. Eliminating the gate between public and private, we’re all just consuming each other from afar. We’re all just singing into hairbrushes in front of a vast mirror that doesn’t exist while the occasional audience looks back at us. I suppose this sort of thing is right up my alley as discovering my own identity has always been a challenge.

I’ve never really discussed race as much as I probably should have in my writings, but I feel this has something to do with some of the displacement I’ve felt in my life. I am of that “ambiguously mixed race” where people come up to me speaking in different languages, expecting a response back that I can’t give. If I straighten my hair or if it gets curly and my skin changes tone in the summer heat, I wreck all kinds of assumptions. Some people actually get really upset when they “can’t place (me).” Others enjoy sizing me up, for them it is an intellectual smorgasbord. With an “olive complexion” and wide eyes, I look like everything and nothing all at once. As a child, I walked around with my mother and people would question the authenticity of our relationship, (i.e. the paternal genes won on physicality). This used to really bother me but I’ve come to embrace belonging to the world, even if I haven’t seen that much of yet.

But we all know that the world is getting smaller everyday! Technology connects and distances and no one knows who the fuck they are anymore and so we dream of a pastoral landscape, where freedom will reign in the trees and not in the wires. With our bodies, our pixelated selves, this is perhaps an oversimplification because it’s 2015 and technology will only become more invasive before it somehow devours itself. The hunter-gatherer days are over, but it’s a dream nonetheless.

Who am I? Who are you?

identitycrisis_woods_1 identitycrisis_woods_2  identitycrisis_woods_3



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Poor Suzy!

Originally posted on The Lankville Daily News:

By Suzy Sweetly-Services By Suzy Sweetly-Services

I can keep a real clean kitchen. I can soak the tables in sudsy liquids whenever I want; I can make them sparkle pristinely. I can mop up throw up like nobody’s business. I’m a professional and everybody knows it. But with great power comes great hostility because not everyone can shine like me. They’re out to get me, see. Every obstacle that They throw at me can be easily dodged. I’m the best.

The mayonnaise that almost killed Suzy. The mayonnaise that almost killed Suzy.

I saw a few of Them snickering around the condiments and speciality oils, right next to the napkin dispenser. I didn’t really make anything of it yet as I had an important meeting to attend about how to properly dress a coffee cup, (with a Java Jacket, of course!). A loud groan was then heard in echoing crescendos, carrying off into the hallway. I looked to my…

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Demassifying Science

ghost in the machine

It had been awhile but I decided to wander into the part of The Woods where I had once been kidnapped. I hoped to find The Specialist there, if only for a moment. He looked tired, as if he had been giving medical treatment to large groups of people in haste, he being the sole provider. I wanted to say a bunch of things all at once but none of it really made any sense so I stuck to the basics. Time was of the essence and this was all a fairy tale to begin with so beginning with false pleasantries would have been a waste of time.

“If you’re simply a conglomeration of hopes and dreams, bits and pieces of memories treasured and tattered, and I’m just another victim that needs medical attention, should I just stay out of this place altogether? If I’m just another patient that you can’t take care of or if I’m someone you’ve met before but pushed further and into stranger directions that even you couldn’t predict – Well, it’s sort of like the blind leading the blind, don’t you think?”

He was nervous now. A mutual friend lingered by, eager to capture this still life in paint and ashes.

“I am what you make me,” he sighed and then walked away.

I realized then that my knuckles were bleeding. I patched myself up and walked off into the night while my friend distracted me with tales of woe because the more I knew the less I actually learned.

simple ghost


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The Contributing Female strikes occasionally…

Originally posted on The Lankville Daily News:

By Sarah Samways: Reporter Who is a Woman By Sarah Samways: Reporter Who is a Woman




Reckoning of the Reckoner for Local Woman? Reckoning of the Reckoner for Local Woman?

Yesterday evening, a local area woman got home from work and attempted to turn on her Reckoner, as per her end-of-shift routine. Unfortunately, it buzzed and whirred and its screen remained black. After several attempts to revive it, the woman picked up a book (covered in cobwebs and dust), and fell asleep.



Rascal and general hooligan, Johnny Lane, 7, was seen chasing an unidentified foreign girl in the schoolyard. The girl, who doesn’t speak any Lankville languages, sustained severe injuries to the scalp and psyche when Lane pulled her braids until several strands broke and were ripped straight out of her head. The event left many baffled and bits of the girl’s…

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eye see you

To those who envy my youth, I must apologize for it’s sticking around for just a little bit longer. Perhaps another four, five years at tops though, right? I’m sorry that I exist – even though I haven’t really ever used it (i.e. youth) properly; I know it’s difficult. It’s difficult especially when I don’t (and never will be able to) have crowning glory and/or fading beauty to cling on to. It’s scary to think that I still have life lessons to learn, new experiences to obtain, and skin to shed. It’s absolutely terrifying that I may know things that my elders don’t. It’s sickening to think I know things about myself but haven’t the experience yet to fix them. It’s a drag to acknowledge that I may still have “potential.”

Now, any friend can tell you that my hope is to be a life-long-learner, continuously absorbing things like a sponge with child-like enthusiasm, (and I won’t even have to go to grad school). So yes, youth in this sense, is a state of mind. But lest we forget it’s also hidden in the blood and expressed around the mouth too. Let the generations collapse and buckle, we needn’t fight because frankly, it’s beneath us.

girl with a work shirt on


…Or just take some ibuprofen.

Originally posted on The Lankville Daily News:

By Sarah Samways By Sarah Samways

Sarah Samways is a contributing female.

It’s been awhile since we last spoke, Lankville, but I promise I have not forgotten you. I’ve been out in the deepest regions of Little Hometown on assignment and have been trying to stay alive. While I was dodging Molotov cocktails from threatening armies and avoiding booby traps, I insisted on staying positive (if only for my crew’s sake). It’s all about perspective, now isn’t it?

We went on foot to discover if any bumpkins had scurried into the trees out of fright. I wanted to know what was going on here but again, I had fallen short of any real answers. I scribbled things on bits of leaves at random parts of the day, tossing aside the ones that I deemed incomplete thoughts on the spot. These equations only fueled more theories and none of them mattered. A young, nervous…

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