Nearly 1200 miles.
Twelve hours.
Two layovers.
One flight of stairs to another Thanksgiving with the family.
I smell turkey, but I am chicken.
I am Cone Alone.


Nearly 1200 miles.
Twelve hours.
Two layovers.
One flight of stairs to another Thanksgiving with the family.
I smell turkey, but I am chicken.
I am Cone Alone.


“Piso mojado,” dude.
I totally told you: “Piso mojado.”
“Piso mojado.”
I tried to warn you, but it seems
I am Cone Alone.

Eerily floating in the harbor.
My origin a mystery.
Is this costume or insidious plot?
Are you drowning in the intrigue?
I am flotsam.
I am jetsam.
I am Cone Alone.

Photo courtesy of Cajsa L.
I never thought I would be close to you.
All my letters came back “Return to Cinder.”
This love is heavy. It weighs me down.
I am Cone Alone?


I may have fallen asleep during my back-to-school duties.
I never knew a moped could do so much damage to a crossing guard.
Finally getting out on good behavior after five years.
I know my family have moved on.
I know my friends have moved on.
I’ve finished this period, but will I ever truly finish this sentence?
I am Con Alone.
Cone Alone, like many of you, is back to school.
That means you can expect posts on a biweekly basis.
The new post comes out Wednesday, September 4.
See you back here then.
Until that time, stay Cone Alone.
Last week, we asked you to help us figure out just what this Cone Alone was thinking waiting outside for the birth of the “Royal Baby.”
After much heated debate on the Internet, we are ready to reveal what Cone Alone was thinking.
No one knows. Clearly, Cone Alone can easily stump the best of us. We know Cone Alone is good about hiding true emotions, which is why we do our best to let them speak for themselves, when they are ready.
We are still sometimes guarded.
We are Cone Alone.