The (Funny) Fear of Backsplash, Photo by BradensEye courtesy of The Hare & Hound Pub

Give me risk, or give me death! I’d rather swim a thousand lifetimes in the profundities of unfathomable plummeting than wade in the shallows of superficiality. It’s been a voluptuous road toward routing myself as the queen of my defense. I enjoy the role of the languid sideliner in contrast to being a dependable dictator for my individual causes. Only, the ferocity of accomplishment generally hastens when we’re hellbent on helping ourselves. Compared to waiting for the pieces to fall charismatically into place. Receiving is often a competition of charging onto the field with a well-toned game plan. Yet, we…


Born This Way, Semi-Selfie

Forever probing the depths of turbulent love-making. Besotted by va-va-voom, dehydrated from a lack of French kisses, my contours will typically play with piles of letters to narrow your judgment about the cleaving hemorrhage of my indiscretions. How I wish this was going to be a well-endowed misprint. Some sort of fantasy fiction I whittle away typing to gift the hungry intercourse junkies a salacious zinger. Instead, this is a tumble of truth. Bound with an intimately auric hymn of continuing my therapeutically encouraged adage of writing out my reality for public consumption and possible pummeling. All in stride for…


As Rare as It Is Common, Photo by BradensEye

A lil promo for devotional aspirations. I want la luna to tune into my show-stopping heart-popping core, prithee. I feel as if I’m flailing around on a couple of (slightly excessively chunky) bended knees ever more regularly. Where are thou honey-lover-(to-)be? My slurping Slushies, while juggling hushpuppies, wanna wake to everyday surf sounds, and pound me perfectly provocatively, oh so frequently, with enough gentle cadence that the neighbors rave about for our zippy waves of easy relational intrigue. Sometimes I think there’s a universal vacuum that’s sucked up titanic vessels of my muck. Yet, somewhere in these clearings, it’s removed…


#FreeBritney, Photo by BradensEye featuring the brilliance of @iheartgraffiti

Drifting is dynamite for enlightenment. Taken off-roading for the first time might be petrifying to those lacking built-in adrenaline genetics (ahem, unlike moi). Yet, I’ve witnessed my share of people come out of a mud-soaked 4x4 biggest smiles ablaze after they’ve given their comfort zone a temporary vacation. Often it seems that the more we try tapering errors in our ways the restlessness of scorching lures hunkers in madly. Snipers of our success are glinting gears offering us the chance to rev up our engines of survival. Gaps in progress are quite parallel detours along the pathways of the wealthy…


The Shape of a Shitshow, Selfie

aka: Why It Matters What You Wear Whenever You Exit Your Dwelling [sub aka: The moral]

High hilarity factors in times of plight. There are those who are not fit to leave the house and then those (of us) who are relatively fit, however, have absolutely no business going out during specific instances. Not unlike fire-drill syndromes, the state of our dress (or undress) comes into play if the universe decides to toy with us any given speck. Typically, I’m not one for overdoing myself stylistically by any general terms. When proximity or speed are coupled, I’m certainly not winning…


Esteemed Weaving, Photo by BradensEye featuring Molly Remer and KT’s Infinite Art

Cutoffs from chaos remain infamous friends. Whether that dreadful conduct disconnect be personably convenient, employmentally connected, environmentally unsound, or whatever version of mental violence that’s wearing you to smithereens. More than once I’ve dipped so low it took the call of the wild to bring me back into myself. Instrumental emergences are the timing meets tone splattering their plucky sass all over your sullied serenity. They typically enter on a mission. Then depart as chronically as they came. Like a soft, plush blanket that feeds your summer through wintertime same, they’ll console you across all seasons if you glorify with…


Good For You, Photo by BradensEye featuring favored Van Leeuwen’s only good things slogan

Strain is simply troubling us to encourage cheer. It’s the same difference as peaches left dangling on their trees versus being sliced open with virgin chef knives or hungry teeth. Your willingness to positively engage the process reaps the rewards. We won’t ever taste life’s natural sweetness if we’re hyper-heedful to the symptoms of solely spotlighting pressure. When we rupture the skin of constraint to squeeze the lovable juices it’s our commitment to godsending bonanza. If we must fall, let us plunge inward into that place inside ourselves that carols for connection. Beware and bewilder at the spaces that attempt…


Swan Song, Photo by BradensEye

’Tis dignified to own our demeanor. I’ve rarely seen a swan that isn’t elegant. It’s as if their DNA is fluent in splendor. I mean, don’t get me wrong. There are scrappy versions who’ve weathered some sort of inferiority to wind up like a used rocker trying to shimmy across a contemporary stage, compared to the artistic form God divined so eloquently. However, all creatures will learn with the gait of their valor. We should stop strangling ourselves by the conception of conformities. I always want to be the Twyla Tharp of purity. I’d prefer people to resonate with me…


Cooing Contours, Photo by BradensEye of a little one left early

Emotions are expensive merchandise. The formulation of our feelings represents these fleeting flirtations that linger throughout our living. Gone goodness is rapt in the physics of permanence punting sensations to aethers garden. In order to see the blooms, we must catch the scents in new forms. Giving up the realities we’ve elected to accept is a pricey exchange of need. We’ve got to lose, as it’s part of the game we came to play. We don’t get to make all of the rules. Yet, we’re liable to their whispers and wails, as well as any steamy shivers. I adore pondering…


In Jest, Photo by BradensEye featuring the clever comedic memoir generator of Amy Schumer at my expense

Growing as mellow as good laugh lines is my motto. I’ve got some severely sovereign bones breakdancing inside my body. They’re like, “Hey, girl, you got laps of living yet to do. So, let’s cut the useless chit-chatter, get to cutting that shagadelic rug, and fo’ sure cut any shit. Mmmm-’k?!” Here’s to all y’all flying your avoider flags with me as we’re figuring out every year that creeps in with some wins and some losses. How the height might go up as the grades go down or when your head hairs begin to match your favorite gray camouflage skin-sucking…

BradensEye

LOVER of life. Especially people, places, philanthropy and photography.

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