Kyla Crist
Stories (6)
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I've Got The World On A String
Ding-Dong. 12:00 p.m. on the dot. Ernie knew how she liked consistency. Martha stretched her tired legs from their crossed position on the couch and slipped on her pink fuzzy slippers, waiting patiently near the coffee table. Stretching her back, then adjusting her matching pink robe with a fuzzy white tail on the back, Martha set forward with a purposeful, yet mindless shuffle towards the door.
By Kyla Crist3 years ago in Fiction
On Pleasure, Pain, And Earthly Things
Slip Slide Battered Bruised Ahead, a wall! or A tapestry of legend No, Distraction heaven Popcorn on a Friday night. Tucked into the deep, warm covers of winter blankets, even if it’s 90 degrees outside. Dimmed lights, quieting the noise of the day. Turned blinds laying against one another like the shields of a fortress, encasing its escapee inside from those who would disturb its peace. Rolling film on the television that holds the eyes; a welcomed simulation that pulls one from consciousness into an unconscious role-play, playing god. Watching, judging, but stagnant.
By Kyla Crist4 years ago in Poets
Happy.
Jack dangled his bare feet in the water, swaying softly side to side, creating ripples in the water with his toes. The jagged rock he was sat upon started to painfully dig into his flesh, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. It was so quiet near the Falls; except for the rushing of the water and the surrounding nature, breathing with life that the boy envied. Jack soaked it all in, trying to let it provide some sort of meaning.
By Kyla Crist4 years ago in Fiction
"Hobo Johnson Alienates His Fanbase" Is Misunderstood, Just Like the Generation It's Written About
Have you ever heard or watched something so awful that it was actually good? Take Tommy Wiseau’s 2003 cult classic, The Room, for example; it’s mind-numbing but nonetheless impactful. That’s my impression of artist Hobo Johnson’s newest album: Hobo Johnson Alienates His Fanbase. With 20 minutes and 46 seconds of chaotic, whiny, and downright not-giving-a-fuck-ness, 26-year-old Hobo Johnson manages to put his listener into the deranged headspace of a young adult growing up in the complex, media-hungry, extremist times of today. Commenting on socio-political topics such as the effects of capitalism, the true ideological foundation of socialism, and the trials of wavering mental health and consequential medication, the singer and lyricist are bold enough to state the effectual dilemmas of this young generation, alienating those who cannot relate to its candid content.
By Kyla Crist4 years ago in FYI
