Category Archives: Prose

Babytalk

(Story from Freeze Tag.) I had been dating Jeannie for two years and had been living with her for the past six months.  We had a place on 31st Street between Madison & Park Avenues and we could afford it because, … Continue reading

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Fruit

(Story from Freeze Tag.)    L & S was a candy store and newsstand located on the corner of 60th St. and 18th Ave.  L & S, which stood for Louie & Son, was owned by Louie Varinella: a burly, slightly … Continue reading

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Gravity Girls

(Excerpt from Raking the Dust.) It was some time later, back at the drink rail, when I heard—Hey Spider-Man—and felt a hand press down on my shoulder. I turned around and there was Jose, his eyes a couple of pinkish slits … Continue reading

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Brooklyn in Taos

  In anticipation of Unsolicited Press’s summer re-release of my first novel, Broken Land, A Brooklyn Tale, a reading from the archives.

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Henry Miller

Some men rattle their chains and wonder, some sing them. Then there are others who spraypaint their chains rainbow siege and dance a jig like a peacock on fire, and when someone asks Isn’t it hard to dance around with … Continue reading

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The Passion of Joan of Arc

(Review of The Passion of Joan of Arc, the silent film classic, which is celebrating its 90th anniversary.) Celebrating its 90th anniversary, Dreyer’s film remains starkly modern in its composition and complexion, fixed in an otherworldly and hallucinogenic present. Jean Cocteau … Continue reading

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Granny and Chaplin

  (Today is my grandmother May’s birthday, May-Day in my heart. Tomorrow is Sir Charlie Chaplin’s birthday, Fool’s-Play-Day in my heart. And so, in honor of these two wonderful and loving spirits) In times of hardship and heartache my grandmother … Continue reading

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Trailer for Nocturne Variations

This is the first literary trailer for Nocturne Variations, my new novel, which will be released this November (Unsolicited Press). Watch here. ABOUT: Dystopic Peter Pan meets surrealist noir in this cinemythical tale about love, loss and the illusions of shadow-play. Los … Continue reading

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Anne Sexton

It begins with a stopwatch, and a glass of water. The stopwatch belonged to her father, or to her father’s father. The glass of water is a joke. Imagine trying to remedy all that desert within, all that scabbing red … Continue reading

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John Fante

Inferiority might have been your first memory. Though you were born on American soil, Denver, CO, April 8th, 1909, the chinked chains of immigration had you by the throat and bowels, pinched your nerves as you butted your head against … Continue reading

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