Author Archives: istsfor manity

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About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....

a jagged headache to boot…

Wretched Hypnopompia This morning I woke up with an angry welt on my left temple. I had a bad night’s sleep, that much is obvious. Which is odd as I’ve sleeping rather well lately. Eris, on the other hand, sleeps … Continue reading →

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tiny purple microdots…

On My Sixteenth Birthday When my estranged father offers to drop acid with me, I start to believe his story. “I was driving my bus over the I-195 bridge.” He draws an arc in the air. “The bus was full … Continue reading →

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witches redux…

Burn the Witch (from 30 Stories in 30 Songs) He sat eating what he thought was the best chicken noodle soup he’d ever had.  It was chock full of carrots, translucent slivers of onions, noodles, and hearty chunks of chicken.  … Continue reading →

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disappearer…

Disappearer I make people disappear. Someone has to do it. The pay is just that good. Haven’t you ever wondered where all the people that disappear mysteriously go? I do too. I wonder where the kids and women — it’s … Continue reading →

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palavering after…

Whig Man Millard Fillmore greeted me on my laptop today He was the featured article on Wikipedia today He was the last Whig to serve as president He seemed to have a wig on in “Fillmore in 1849” The Brady … Continue reading →

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macrophage mania…

Pandemic Haiku Febrile and tranquil He submits to the sickness He gives up the fight “Avoid the world, it’s just a lot of dust and drag and means nothing in the end.” — Jack Kerouac

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then that’s enough…

110 Words Even if it’s just a few desultorily drawn up words at the end of the world, on the butt end of pandemics… Why are we here anyway? What does it really matter? Well, we spend our lives constructing … Continue reading →

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interstitial praxis…

His One Consolation “Heh,” she says. “Heh!” He doesn’t say much of anything. His hands are tied, but not his feet — so it’s easy for him to get up walk to the kitchen and use the scissors with a backwards … Continue reading →

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twistings of moonglow…

Buzzards on Parade The twelfth day of the month was Copperhead Wednesday. Serpentine was the look we were going for. Beatific upper register notes is what Maria was reaching for: Ta da la ta da la dao, was what she … Continue reading →

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it strikes a timbre most foul…

My name is a wall I’m changing my name.  Like most of us I had no hand in choosing my name, but unlike many of you my name pays homage to a bad man, and my association with him has … Continue reading →

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