Tag Archives: Nonfiction

Blood Moon Have you ever felt like a fatherless waif
In the presence of your father? Have you ever felt like a cornered cat
As your mother hovers
Over you in the blood-moon light? I dream of Saturn eating his children I dream … Continue reading →

Drill (The Year is Halfway Done) Dearest Depression Residents,  Your neighbor on the 16th floor is having a folly of amour fou and replacing his rat traps with soft diffuse ambient lighting. You may hear executions for the next happy … Continue reading →

Entropy Schmentropy (redux) She was crowned Queen of the Universe The Anti-Christ teetered at the edge of the balance beamon the cusp of space-time A crowd gathered on the accretion disk keenfor a victor The supergiant elliptical galaxy IC 1101 was unmoved—filled … Continue reading →

What I’m Reading: In the long hallway, everyone’s doors were closed. I touched every doorknob and saw myself magnified. — Callie Siskel / “Echo”

Memorable Stuff I Read This Week In the end, we are all existential pathfinders: We select among the paths life affords, and then, when those paths no longer work for us, we edit them and innovate as necessary. The tricky … Continue reading →

She Said (redux) She said to herself: Thanks for renting a space in this life. Despite the scrofulous and desiccate in life you stayed around to witness the swirling swallows above, and their reflected pantomime in the water below—a whirlwind … Continue reading →

cross-wired (redux) the morality of it doesn’t enter in to any of this we can hold two mutually contradictory ideasin mind at the same time fritillaryherbaceous& compromised as a corpus callosumthat no longer holdsa mind together cross-wired and twisted beyond … Continue reading →

Sense / Relatives (redux) Then there was my uncle Mao. His own generational AI—his Little Red Bookworm in the rainstorm and no one left wanting his worn pouffy sieges. But that’s exactly what my underage blackguard aunt wore on her spectacles so … Continue reading →

What I’m Reading: This is warso all the birds would flee — Irma Pineda / “This is war”