Important for every writer, really…

I has word acumenWordsmithery for the win.

xoxo – Pikey

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Being Heard

being heard is so close to being loved

Quote by David Augsberger.

xoxo – Pikey

 

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The Age-Old Question…

846 possible or necessary

As with a few of my other references, you might have to do some googling to get it… oh well. At least you’ll have broadened your horizons ^_^.

xoxo – Pikey

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Comrades, I’m afraid I’ve done it again…

Of course I would find an apartment in NY that would be decisively without counter space and drawer space. Of course. And, of course, rather than take advantage of the opportunity to buy from the fine people at Ikea who know a thing or two about furniture, I decided to build my own. Behold, my vision of chic, modern, clean geometry for the kitchen ^_^.

In one swift action, the Scotsman (better known as Dave, not pictured here) and I quadrupled our drawer space and gained practical counter space tenfold. This project was completed thanks in no small measure to my coconspirator in chief (better known as Dad, not pictured here) and just in time for my return to BK after the holidays. I suspect shelves are next…

Get crafty, comrades…

 

xoxo – Pikey

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A Poem

He wanted something beautiful to fill his eyes, to steal his breath in wonder:
A perfect sunrise, crashing through the darkness on its way, every day;
He wanted color and warmth to form a smile on his face without effort,
Ever more radiant than he might have dreamed, dreamed away….
He wanted something precious to fill his arms, in every waking hour:
He wanted laughter, love, and peace in a place to call his own, call a home;
But looking out into the skies at dawn, with sadness in his eyes,
He breathed a heavy sigh, for all he’d hoped and tried, he saw that there was
Nothing.

He wanted something sensible to fill his mind, to soothe his ache for order:
A harmony of calculations, made to catalogue the fray, every day;
He wanted cold precision and meticulous description to be all there was,
See all there was in trusty black and white, never gray….
He wanted something tangible to fill a page, assuage his every need:
He wanted peace of mind on sheets in files in their place, all in place;
But looking out into the night alone, a darkness void of height or depth
Consumed his will to fight, for all he’d vied to prove, he knew that there was
Nothing.

He wanted anything to make some kind of sound, to quell his fear of silence:
An exit from his fetid rhythm of slick, slow decay, day by day;
He wanted aberrance, or dissonance, or any kind of difference,
Dissenting from the steady life he’d led, bled away….
He wanted to escape his world, to venture anywhere into another:
He longed for some release he’d only dreamed he might feel, so surreal;
He craved the peal of Heaven’s bells, if not the hot embrace of Hell,
But aft the bullet shell he fired upon himself, he found that there was
Nothing.

PH 2012

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Writer On Set…

ImageMy experience as a writer on set is that nobody there really knows what to do with you. If you’re lucky, people are intimidated, but most of the time they just assume you’re in the way, even if you’re there to fulfill some other obligation. Such is life.

xoxo – Pikey

 

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Top shelf, if I do say so myself…

Pikey Holdredge - Producer

Producing and whiskey: two of my favorite things…

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