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New stars flicker in the late spring hedgesas hawthorns glimmer bright white againstgrey skies still sullen with winter as theirstamens blink in the chilly east wind thatgusts and makes the fresh leaves shiveras bluebells drift the banks, a ceruleanpromise of cloudless summer heavens. Kate Meyer-Currey was born in 1969 andContinue Reading

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At the exact moment where night becomes day, there’s a meet-cute between heat & atmosphere that only takes place in certain places; not in L.A. or the Florida Keys, where white-sand minutes tick strictly forward, but along plainland rivers where crickets & frogs take turns directing an orchestra of timberContinue Reading

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[The phone rings] Austen residence. This is Andrews. Is Miss Austen in? Oh, Mr. Andrews. Yes, she’s here. May I talk to her, Cassandra? Why? Is it important? By the way, I am ‘Miss Austen.’ I would prefer it if you don’t call me ‘Cassandra.’ My sister is also ‘MissContinue Reading

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The time trilogy: 1. The past will always stay around to haunt us 1a. Yesterday was the past. A monster we cannot move. But maybe we can cage it, Or befriend it. 1b. The past is in the past, And now that time has past, We can move past, TheContinue Reading

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Dear 21st Century, We speak to you here in terms familiar to you, in patterns amenable to your native sense, but we would like to emphasize that these terms and patterns are yours, and not ours, though we translate our own notions into yours. Naturally, much is lost in translation.Continue Reading

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It is hard to tell now what is the absinthe and what is the bile. Matyáš and Tomáš contemplate the red doors.  Behind one red door is the incinerator. Behind the other red door is the future. Outside the laboratory altogether then is the third option, the option already insideContinue Reading

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Out there, Where the moon rocks splash, In a sea of stars, A daring dreamer, Rails against, The cold steel walls, Of an atmosphere. Stowed away, Forging a vessel, Through quiet intention, And craftsmanship, To channel the liquid night, And take refuge in the sky. Eyes forever onward. Inhabiting, ImprovisedContinue Reading

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A sight upon a site. The hollow beacon stood atop Little Brewster with its majestic gaze. Guiding wayward seafarers from cracking their hull into oblivion. A 12-sided Fresnel lens commanded safe passage to calmer shores, and all at the behest of David Warren, the man who manned this remarkable wonder.Continue Reading

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E.T. Starmann is a pulp fanatic. Although he may not be a professional bookseller or librarian, he is a long-time Weird Tales, Amazing Stories, AllStory collector. A Portland native, E.T. has spent countless hours in the Gold Room nook at Powell’s, pouring through the latest pulp rack covers. E.T.’s workContinue Reading

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There was no delay in my work. The lathe machines were pumping. I could not get them to stop, no matter how much I begged them. There had never been such demand.  The machines of our street pumped into the night. The air above the tarmac was a shimmering metalContinue Reading