Category Archives: Prose

The Sadness of Beautiful Things

Review of Simon Van Booy’s collection of stories, The Sadness of Beautiful Things. “O Lord, give us each our own death. Grant us the dying that comes forth from that life in which we knew love, grappled with meaning, felt … Continue reading

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Door II

When the trap door fell, he remembered who he was– Peter Pan leapt, soared.

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Nocturne on the Horizon

Cover reveal for my new novel, Nocturne Variations (coming this November).  Designed by Heather Ross. NOCTURNE VARIATIONS: Dystopic Peter Pan meets surrealist noir in this cinemythical tale about love, loss and the illusions of shadow-play. Los Angeles, December, 1989, is when … Continue reading

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Pink Stucco

I tell her we need three days, alone, uninterrupted, in a pink stucco motel. She giggles. Why pink stucco? I don’t know, pink stucco is what I see. It’s you and me and the motel with the pink stucco exterior … Continue reading

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Hands

This is the text which inspired the story I performed in a Story Slam a couple of years back. The theme was “Risk.” Here’s a video clip of the presentation (sorry, it’s sideways, but then again, so am I). One … Continue reading

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The Fourth, or, The Great Big Bang

She wanted to celebrate the Fourth. She put on her Stars and Stripes panties. Packed her toy gun, the one with the BANG flag that unfurled, into her babyblue purse with silver sequins. After waggling her hips to emphasize the … Continue reading

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Metamorphosis Variations

I. As I awoke one morning, from a blue-dark night of drinking and uneasy dreams, I found myself transformed into a cockroach. Figures it’d be a cockroach, skidded a deadpan between a head full of swollen thoughts.  With newfound prehistoric … Continue reading

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Ghosting

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale) I closed my notebook and sat motionless at my desk for a long while, feeling flat and infirm. Then, not able to put it off any longer, it was time to disengage my … Continue reading

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Scandinavia

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale)   I am standing over myself: a runt-skinny kid lying flat on his stomach, right elbow hunched, the stubby pencil in his left hand ferociously scribbling on a piece of unlined white paper.  … Continue reading

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Hot Pockets by Lamplight

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale) I climbed the stairs to the third floor, where Jimmy’s apartment was.  When I got to his door, I knocked, not expecting an answer, and not getting one.  I turned the knob, expecting … Continue reading

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