The stained glass window of reality, once so full of stories, is shattered. The pieces make music as they fall to the stone floor of the cathedral—and we are blind, the only illumination we can perceive comes from the scattered fragments glowing with slow, irregular pulses at our feet. You bend to retrieve a shard and slip the edge across the tip of a finger, then marvel at the lovely hue of the red that plashes onto the glowing debris below.
This is FRAGMENT DAY full of fragments of thoughts, half baked ideas, and ill-prepared notions, because today my head refuses to comple
—Richar F. Ya
P.S. – No apologies. Some frags make more sense than others. Nature of the beast.