You are living in a boxGrowing smaller. You were born inside the box,and it has been a part of you (apart from you)forever, like a shadow is and isn’t, like the wallsthe shadows play on or the fires that cast them.A shadow is its light. In such a manner, so’s
A man is mowing his lawn at dawn with Airpods on in a yard five houses down. He is listening to a convicted felon describe fugue states and contemplating the utter silence of his street. It has been almost eight months since his wife left with Arwen, their Bichon Frise,
Overnight, a studio apartment made entirely of glass appeared in the middle of the waterfront park. Every surface, every wall, every piece of furniture within (save a single pillar of stone in the dead center of the room) was made of the same sturdy, translucent glass. From the outside there
On the mustering groundsof Argentoratum, where the Sermentsde Strasbourg found its accord,and hordes of hollow serfs wrought castle stone from tendervalley-grass,upon that memory of masters, men and order,the dance of St. Vitus came first uponthe lady Troffea and peeled openthe gatemouths of Hell. It appeared at first like a compulsory
Baby Bink was taken. It is all light fun. Donna (from Twin Peaks), she plays the mother, she knew Old Willy had photographed Cotwell babies since the Great Depression (when everyone was hungry, when many people died), but she dared for more. She wanted Baby Bink upon “the daily correspondence”.
I cannot remember my name. I do know that I am sick. I am a very sick man. I have been told by a doctor that I am frighteningly unwell and that things are looking dangerous. I do not remember what his name was, either. He was young. Vibrant. Healthy.
A hundred thousand moons ago,a great blue ox as tall as the starswould wander the sleeping expanse of Earth.Where her hooves would fall, poppies and tall grasswould grow. Life would flourish there in blessed huesof yellow and green, for this was the love of great Apis,Bull of Heaven, godmother of