Yesteryear Fiction

Ink Within The Book
By Jimmy Biermann


When she puts pen to paper, the colors she weaves turn to life. As long as she writes, the world breathes, moves, opens and grows. When she stops, the colors stagnate, fade, and as the ink dries and the leaves of the book of time fall shut, time freezes, becomes solid.

For some, lost in the arms of their lovers, this is utter bliss.

For others, dying for a cause not believed in, the gasping torture of the approach into darkness never ends.


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I like guns and survival gear. I believe in free energy and think David Wilcock kicks ass.