Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

Fiction, poetry, music and mindscape pictures by creative artist Jason Santo

Well Now. This is Quite a Mess.

So I’ve decided to collapse as many of my online ramblings as I could into this website and in doing so I’ve managed to create a bit of a tire fire in terms of organization. At the same time, I’m constantly debating with myself what’s actually going to live here and what isn’t. I guess […]

Read More

Why this?

It’s been a long, long time since I’ve blogged. While I’ve dabbled with Blogger (well past the point any self-respecting web developer would), that was a six month experiment largely geared toward using my jasonsanto.com domain to get out some of the new writing I was doing. Four years or so later, I’ve been tasked with […]

Read More

La pluie qui est Tombée

Throaty saxophone warble, the punctuation of this ru(e)mination is distaff, an open embrace to nurturing breast and plumbed womb; seed dripping down thighs as refuse shatters outside tall windows. Day’s broken. Hours coagulate, gumming up the works of released agonies, veins popping, heads rolling with 18th Century aplomb; tasty petite mort lurking behind edifice edges […]

Read More

Stucco and Stone

Wood and tile. It was all she knew. Wood and tile, stucco and stone. The night had pulsed long past late dusk, revelers waving their limbs about in heightened, feigned ecstasies they hoped might escalate and consume them, like dry brush waiting for fire. So many nights like this one over the years, evenings where […]

Read More

Out Riding

His name was Carlos, or so he’d said. Min-jung honestly didn’t care. He was young, strong and beautiful and he believed her when she said her name was Areum, so all things being equal, he had every right to be Carlos, Juan, Victor or Pablo. She didn’t mind as long as he held her again […]

Read More

Sea Through

Are we flawless? No, windows dirty just as skin blemishes and thoughts corrupt the way lead paint chips. Death ensures imperfection yet we rage on with wild presumption and hand to mouth eagerness, our feasts a staggering display of gluttony awarded long ago only to the clergy conscripted; the divinely ordinanced few now have to […]

Read More

Open Streets (Carrer del Tiradors)

Come on all you ghosts. Lurk not in shadow, but sing wild requiem in an ethereal throat that echoes like moonlight off the weathered gray stone of Godhouses. Dreams wither and bloom in the clear dry of evening, reason expiates action, a deft caress, a tongue lash, a glimpse of softer flesh; the weight everlasting […]

Read More

One Way

Gail had lost the bet with herself, an irony not lost on her. Lev’s decision didn’t surprise, but it irritated her the way a stain did when soup was ordered instead of a burger to avoid dripping grease on a new blouse. Still a drop blemished. Had she known how quickly Lev was going to […]

Read More

Taken

Whine by the bellyful, the sanguine press of a bleeding heart wreathes like those thorns across the forehead of a savior, spilling forgiveness. There’s none to be had. Hands filthy, the ridges of identity choked with grime and guilt, it’s nothing compared to the blemish of those actions. What’s done, so much louder than words, […]

Read More

At Your Smallest

Tiny things, That first breath taken with morning eyes Open Or the way both arms reach to the headboard In a satisfying stretch, But specifically the smile The way it crests with sunny realization That there’s love in this bed, This house, This air. Spring can have its opulent blooms And Summer can pull hair, […]

Read More

To see what's what in the world of Santo

>> <<