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My wife and I always dreamed of living off-grid on our own land, but we were never able to afford anything—not even a small quarter-acre lot. We were sick of paying rent for shitty houses and apartments that charged way too much for the condition they were in, so we started wondering if there was anywhere we could actually afford to live.

Hiking has been an obsession of mine for a while. Finding a new trail and exploring the woods just makes me feel alive. I remember living in Birmingham, Alabama, and hiking the trails at Oak Mountain State Park. The blue trail was my favorite cause it led to a waterfall at the end. It's been a dream of mine to hike the Appalachian Trail, which stretches across 14 states, and tomorrow I was going to start my 2,198-mile hike. The start of the Appalachian Trail begins at the top of Springer…

My name is Emily Stark. That name used to sound soft, elegant—almost sacred. It was spoken on red carpets, in interviews, on magazine covers, in credits after films, in signature lines beneath paintings, in animated series I helped create, and in songs people claimed saved their lives. I was adored. I was famous. I was “gifted.” I could smile in a way that made people forget how to breathe, and sing in a way that made silence feel holy. I was an actress, model, writer, philanthropist, painter,…

Everyone loves Disney and their beloved cartoon characters like Mickey mouse, Donald duck, Goofy, Minne Mouse and Daisy duck, Pluto. But what if I tell you that there's something deeper in Disney that we all forgotten a long time ago? You can grab one of their files and it'll be titled. "The Disney Files" Welcome to this Alternative Universe, where it shows you the files of 'The Dark Reflection of Disney'

At ten years old my parents and I had moved away from my childhood home and into an underdeveloped city, within a quaint little cul de sac. Moving away from all of my friends, especially when we were off from school hit me pretty hard, and my parents knew that. One of the things they had tried to do to make up for it, was move into a neighborhood they made sure was full of other kids. What’s more, is that one street over from this new home there was a large park. It had everything: tennis and…

Sebastian woke up to the sound of a loud and repeated banging on his bedroom door. He opened his eyes slowly: the pounding of each knock enraged every muscle within his head, and amplified his hangover. He groaned to himself as he was in the process of sitting upright in his bed, to find he’d fallen asleep wearing the gray sweat-jacket, jeans, and white shoes that had been worn the day before, and shook his head at the sight of himself. He grabbed his head and groaned louder. His bedroom was…

Starting this blog because I don't know where else to put this. I've spent the last few weeks going through case files that keep showing up in different countries, different years, no obvious connection between them. Police never cross-referenced any of it. I think I know why now. If any of this sounds familiar to you, message me. I need to know I'm not the only one who's noticed the pattern.

Stacy was a diligent office worker-meticulous and thorough. It was a typical, sunny summer day, just like any other. She sat at her desk, buried under a pile of documents to sign and a long list of emails to send. Nothing indicated that her peace was about to be shattered. Her colleague, Michelle, walked into the office, announcing that there was an issue with the ventilation system and that the computers were running louder than usual, though no one knew why.

I didn't open the door. On mine and violets life I didn't, but my head was pounding the same way as it did when I went through a door.

There was a warp before his eyes, before his right eye, an uncommon warp—something like two faces, like two halves of different faces. One for real, living, responsive to the world. And the other . . . about which, echoing your senses, you would say: Whatever for? It shouldn’t be there. It shouldn’t be born in the first place, because whatever’s born is there to embrace life, not repel it, not clam up, not frighten it, not for it to repel the born, not one about which you would say: He’s…

My brain couldn’t cooperate with what I was seeing. It was 39 minutes past 12, and my 58 year old father was standing outside my front door, looking especially tired and zombified. And he was asking me… “Are you sure you haven’t seen your sister?” He questioned in a raspy, hollow voice. I continued gaping at him, shaking my head. I forced my jaw to shut. “No, Dad. I don’t have a sister, I’m the only child.” I said, for the millionth time. “Are you… okay?”

I was just finishing up an essay at midnight when somebody knocked on my door. My face twisted with confusion as I wondered why somebody would knock on my door instead of using the doorbell. Plus, it was MIDNIGHT. I stood up slowly and heard another knock on the door. Annoyed, I ran downstairs. Another knock. It was rhythmic, like the beat on a drum. KNOCK-KNOCK… KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Feeling my dinner crawl up my esophagus, I opened the door. “Dude, it’s midnight. What are you d-”

It’s a late September night, and I’m walking to the Londoun Gateway to catch my train. Sure, it’s midnight, but my cousin Iora called me and told me to get over there immediately. She said she found my dog. My dog Crustin went missing a few years back, and I’d almost forgotten about him, until today. My first thought was: NO WAY! Crustin’s been missing for YEARS, and he’s ALIVE?

My dad Don may as well have been dead this past year. Hell, you could make the argument he may as well have been dead for nearly the past fifty… ever since his brother Tommy passed away from cancer in 1973.

Fun fact: There was a time when I was, technically speaking, a “Twitter artist”. Not in the sense that I was controversial or “corny”, as some people put it, but I was an artist with a Twitter account, and I witnessed a lot of the petty drama and general fuss that came with being on art Twitter. I’ve long since deleted my account for a whole cocktail of reasons, but the incident I’m about to describe definitely helped me in making my decision to leave.

My dad shared with me a story that happened a long time ago. I apologize if some details do not make sense; my dad was younger back then, so details may be a bit fuzzy.

Spending time in jail isn't fun, like at all. It may be one of the worst experiences you could ever face in your life. If any kid out there is listening to this? Please understand that jail isn't cool. One minute you get yourself arrested, thinking it will make you look cool in front of your friends, showing that you're some sort of badass. Next, you'll be shivering in a jail cell, with other prisoners around you that either want to hurt you physically, or worse. But, when I was arrested, I…

I didn’t really like either of the sons-of-bitches. The only problem was I was married to Ed. At thirty years old, I’d gone from Sharon Wilson to Sharon Wam. I know. Changing to such a silly last name was only an awful beginning to an awful marriage. Unlike me, Ed didn’t like going out much. He much preferred to drink at our little house on East University Street. The married months weren’t kind to us. Ed’s curly golden hair was always a mess, his good-looking face hindered by constant anger.

The drinks had been flowing for three hours by the time we started telling stories; otherwise, I doubt all this would have happened. My lab-colleagues and I had just submitted our yearly grant-request to the National Science Foundation. We were all on edge: if Uncle Sam rejected our request, our lab would be bankrupt and we'd all be out of work. So to boost our spirits, our lab's leader, Leo, invited us all out to the local bar and grill -- his treat.

9/01/2015 ... I always wondered what causes people to picture things in their head a certain way. Whether it's emotion, or memory, or something harder to name. What interested me most was why it changes. You imagine something one way for years, and then one day, without any warning, it's different. And you can't go back to the way it was before, no matter how hard you try.