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Here you can Sed posuere consectetur est at lobortis. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla. Maecenas sed diam eget risus varius blandit sit amet non magna. Donec id elit non mi porta gravida at eget metus. Praesent commodo cursus magna, vel scelerisque nisl consectetur et.

            
              <article class="post">
  <h2>Chapter Three: The Great American Game</h2>

  <p>Dear Diary,</p>

  <p>Grandfather's creaky as his front porch, loads his shotgun beneath the awning, spittoon restless for rain, carpenter's
    chair against the whistling air. Rocking, back and forth, rocking snap shot picture - worth it, just like the movies</p>

  <div class="tip tip-right">
    <p>This is a song by
      <a href="http://levithepoet.net/">Levi The Poet</a>
    </p>
  </div>


  <p>She said that he loved baseball, and James Earl Jones; said that he's got god talking inside of his thoughts while he's
    rounding those bases on his way back home</p>

  <blockquote>
    <p>"If you build it, they will come"</p>
  </blockquote>

  <p>If you build it, they will come (and baby listens to what the Lord say). But I've been getting pretty worn, building for
    nearly a decade</p>

  <figure>
    <img src="https://source.unsplash.com/1000x300" alt="Big Ass Image">
    <figcaption>Super Nice Photo</figcaption>
  </figure>


  <p>In a perfect world we shouldn’t have been allowed to lose sight of what it means to love wholly. I’ve got a Polaroid hanging
    on my wall that a friend took of me and my angel. I remember the day like it’s something I can touch, but it’s stuck
    in the square between the borders of the film, and I can run my fingers over our faces, but I can’t get back to the places
    we were</p>


  <blockquote>
    <p>You’ve got a pain deep in your bones, son.</p>
  </blockquote>
  <p>"You’ve got a pain deep in your bones, son. It compels you forward like you’re tied to a slave master’s cruel hand, and
    it's the same pain that drives that oppressor’s heart of stone, so you’ve grown to love the man. You keep pouring yourself
    out, again and again, into legible lines through a crooked pen." Yeah, it’s painful, but it’s familiar – so habit breeds
    comfort, and I don’t know what I’d do without him</p>

  <div class="tip tip-left">
    <p>You can listen to this song on
      <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-gvpej9TT-g">YouTube</a>
    </p>
  </div>

  <p>So in the early morning, when you’ve fallen asleep in our home, I drift back into the memories that I’ve claimed as my
    own, and wonder if tonight will be a night I’ll hang on my wall like I did before we stopped taking photos, out of the
    habit of being comfortable with not trying at all</p>

  <p>In a perfect world, we’ll have albums labeled Seasons, with chapter headings, and we’ll staple them to the cork-board that
    hangs at the foot of the bed. There’s longevity in a memory spilt out in pen, and if a picture is worth a thousand words
    then I’ve written down every one of them</p>

  <p>I work hard, scarred, toil through that soil for the youth I see in my friends, but these journals are moments in time,
    snapshots of our lives, and in retrospect, age is an overexposed photo that the memories can't mend</p>

  <div class="tip tip-right">
    <img src="https://f4.bcbits.com/img/a1057026609_16.jpg" alt="Correspondence Album Cover">
    <p>Buy the album on
      <a href="https://levithepoet.bandcamp.com/album/correspondence-a-fiction">BandCamp</a>
    </p>
    <p>Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet consectetur adipisicing elit. Molestiae totam quia vel eveniet porro, rem ducimus quam incidunt,
      dicta laborum quod earum tempore natus placeat neque aspernatur pariatur iusto quos.</p>
  </div>
  <p>I know my sweet seductress, and her name is Depression. I wrote best beneath that demon’s destructive oppression</p>


  <p>In those Polaroids, she drove the ink into the canvas like a slave beneath his master’s cruel hand, and I hated that whip
    but always wondered what I’d do without it, so I grew to love the man</p>

  <p>Oh, I wept for change! I begged for movement and the good Lord, he answered my prayers, but you don’t know how to breathe
    easy when you let go of your habits, even if your comforts left you gasping for air</p>


  <figure>
    <img src="https://source.unsplash.com/1000x700" alt="Big Ass Image">
    <figcaption>Super Nice Photo</figcaption>
  </figure>

  <h2>Dear Time</h2>

  <p>Grandfather's as creaky as his front porch, scent like oil in the gun barrel, dip-can kicked over the railing, sandpaper
    hands stuck behind thumb tacks on my wall. I’ve got an ache in my chest for every season I miss and it gets worse when
    the snow starts to fall. There are butterflies alive in that couple’s eyes a few years since forgotten by all, and sometimes,
    if the phone starts to ring, I can still hear their wings when you call</p>

  <p>But I begged for movement and I got what I asked for, and I can picture the answer like it came yesterday. And in the land
    of the gods, I think that things are timeless, but we are still prone to decay</p>

  <p>You know I still lift up hope of certain smiles in those photos for us when I pray</p>

  <blockquote>
    <p>"Idle hands build nothing that you can call your own"</p>
  </blockquote>

  <p>Time is a cruel lover, and she breaks her house apart at its bones. You know comfort is no good reason for standing still,
    and idle hands build nothing that you can call your own.</p>

  <blockquote>
    <p>— Levi The Poet</p>
  </blockquote>

</article>
            
          
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