The Paradox of Our Age & a Beatbox

The Paradox of Our Age and a Beatbox By Jacqueline Cioffa I’m not going to spin the crooked ways the world disgusts me, fueled by greed, and selfie look-at-me affliction. I’m not going to ask why the hell we’re celebrating, glorifying, mystifying, ridiculing, opinionating, posturizing, and Glam-O-Rizing Reality TV wannabe Celebrity with million dollar ‘99 problems but the bitch ain’t one’ bad behavior? I’m not going to rant and rave graphic, go on and on and

If the shoe fits

In line at the grocery store I couldn’t help but check out the pretty, cool chick in front of me and her wooden clogs. They had heels. I thought maybe she’s from NYC, she’s not from here (most sensible people wear boots). And, she’s going to fall on her butt outside. The sidewalks are sheets of ice. I had just fallen on my ass. A disabled man one counter over was

Frostbite Nation

Frostbite Nation by Jacqueline Cioffa There are few things I know. I have never seen or imagined some better, happier version of me from the future. No matter how hard I squeeze my eyes tight, I’m blindsided. I can’t map it out. I visualize serenity, the modern beach home, transparent, quiet and clean. Made of clear glass to see the silly sun rise in the mornings, and mourning moon smiling back at