The Earth found fire ( Read more... )

The world as we know it. It is an ironic collection of words, because we really do not understand the world we know. The world we know is made up of three kinds of lemmings, walking toward a cliff calmly without reason or self-pity. Masters on horseback lash beggars on foot. The beggars plan quietly under sullen looks at the dark leather whips ( Read more... )

The Paper Man's boat-house crumbled. Its ragged hull exposed for far too long to the relentless slap and tickle of water, the salt-stained windows witnessed a storm that was almost black with fury. He loved the familiarity his boat offered while adrift in places he didn't know, peopled by men strange and distant from his own sense of despondency ( Read more... )

On my return from the Moon I looked in Ann Arbor for the woman who'd seen me off when I had started. I found her at the bar we used to frequent, nursing her staple gin-and-tonic while looking morosely at the grain of the stained-wood bar-top. I poked her in the side, gave her a hug and said, "I'm sorry, I've been gone awhile." She breathed in, and ( Read more... )

A poor old man sat in the street on a garbage can, watching the other end of the alley. There was a young boy there, a mad boy who kept walking into the wall repeatedly, head-first. He was running on an unwavering rhythm, his forehead bloody and eyes unblinking ( Read more... )

"Let me tell you a story about how the world died, Michael. No. Always look at me when I'm talking to you. Look up, Michael. Look at my eyes, not my mouth. People will trust you more often. Your eyes tell the world what is in your heart, for all those who can look up to your eyes and care to see. Understand?"

The six year old did as he was told, ( Read more... )

Stan Instanboul was a man of unlimited resources. Had it been money, or perhaps an army of faceless no-gooders waiting on his no-good directive and objective perspective, he had the capacity and the moral propensity to make it real. He could make things happen before the authorities knew they were happening, or before his unfortunate victims were ( Read more... )

I thought of something to write about last night. It was glorious, intuitive and magnificently relevant, right from its birth (and the conceptualization of its unique consciousness) to its untimely demise from alcohol poisoning. Today, I could almost remember it melting into the fog (talking to a white American while nursing a White Russian)It's ( Read more... )

I had one of those nights tonight. My back felt ill at ease with the bed, and my mind was unhappy with how incomplete my scrawls were. I knew that somewhere in the pit of my stomach, and I have the sinking feeling that I won't get much sleep until I'm happy, if that is going to happen. Tonight, I am a writer gripped with the insatiable, fidgety ( Read more... )

A total stranger, on a dark and wet day decided (perhaps because of the damage the weather had done to his leather mood) to stabbing living the hell out of a beautiful girl. Her tense muscles and the tiny, pretty blood-caked hands wrapped stoically around the butcher's knife in the middle of her chest radiated pure determination. She died fighting ( Read more... )