Karlo Asko
Bio
I love to volunteer, teaching about a better time to come. Public Speaking is my passion. I enjoy reading and painting pictures with my words. Now is the time for me to fill my canvas.
Stories (3)
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Our Time
OurTime I have a name - but there are no fancy letters and numbers following it on any diplomas that hang with perfect precision on my off-white walls. I have no diplomas that announce my credibility in the field of Memories and their influence on you. And I have not sat through endless debates and lectures on the subjects of Psychology or Psychiatry at any of the prestigious Universities that dust the earth like fall snow in the White Mountains. I am just like you, I have lived and loved and learned through experience. I am now 52-years-old but sometimes not a day over 12 and other times I am 91 and wonder how I can possibly go on.
By Karlo Asko 5 years ago in Families
The Prized Possession
My name is Karlo Asko, and there it stops: at the "o." What would it look like on a wall with a prestigious degree from one of the universities that dust the earth like fall snow in the White Mountains? Not sure, I chose a different trail through the double diamond of my life. I'm just a man, a man who has lived for 52 years and has loved and learned, like you: through Experience. My credentials, like most around me today, come from life, from the mundane to the truly magnificent. I sometimes feel like an exuberant 12-year-old with dirt behind my ears, a runny nose, and a big blank open space before me as big as a galaxy...my future. But, my friend, at other times I feel like I am 90 years old, looking back with that same exuberance, sans the dirt and snot but with a little fog that rolls over the beach of my memories.
By Karlo Asko 5 years ago in Families
Surface Area
Afternoon, July 14, 2022 Plink plinkity plink. Bits of gravel and dust fall onto my head, roll down my neck and shoulders and drop some 100 feet below me. My entire body is dripping with sweat, my bare shoulders and neck collect the dust into a grit-filled mud. Dust and grit and mud, things I hate with a loathing usually reserved for murderers and thieves. Little did I know that this would be a trivial problem compared to my new reality. I was about to discover a stark reality of barrenness and emptiness on the “surface” of what is now the earth and would soon exist below my “surface." I would soon realize, deep inside my core, at a depth I have never examined, that I was truly alone.
By Karlo Asko 5 years ago in Fiction
