Tag Archives: fiction

Can I Strip For You?

Posted on June 5, 2018 by

I want to exist for you, even if only as confusion and fiction, she said. Really, I said. No, un-really, she corrected, then caught my nose between her knuckles and gave it a playful toggle.    I didn’t know what … Continue reading →

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Set Course

Posted on May 23, 2018 by

The love I don’t get to live with her, I am going to have to live and attend, sublimely, through fiction, there are only so many lives to choose from, to assume gracefully, so many courses upon which the sun … Continue reading →

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Fruit

Posted on May 18, 2018 by

(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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Snapshot

Posted on March 29, 2018 by

(Excerpt from Raking the Dust) Seven years later, reflecting upon an analytical snapshot held up to the light: Thirty-three, unemployed, a boatload of debt, drinking excessively, divorcee, amateur plumber of shit-clogged pipe dreams—when I got my head stuck up my … Continue reading →

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Slingshot

Posted on February 20, 2018 by

From a distance, within, the story of a writer’s life in the day of fiction’s living wake.

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Reckoning

Posted on January 17, 2018 by

I realized that there may never come a reckoning that equated to a clean or true do-over. And what was it I wanted to break from? Was it the past, was it a worn and outdated mode of self that … Continue reading →

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Feelism

Posted on January 15, 2018 by

Feelism: emotional subjectivity filtered through the prism of Memory; story-seeds rooted in sensual Nostalgia. In my book, this is what happened has always taken a backseat to this is how it felt.

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Slant

Posted on January 15, 2018 by

Emily Dickinson advised that we “tell it slant.” This makes sense. Telling it slant is a natural outgrowth of living it slant. Oblique paths and slanted paths dominate my sense of inner geography. Dylan Thomas wrote: “The memories of childhood … Continue reading →

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Boneyard

Posted on January 7, 2018 by

Sometimes you have to walk through the boneyard, in order to reach the garden.

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Monster

Posted on January 7, 2018 by

Fiction is a monster. It demands, it consumes. It is a glutton. Enough is never enough. It won’t be satisfied until the unreal becomes utterly real, beyond real. Its sole desire is to usurp reality, to surpass it. It basks … Continue reading →

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