Tag Archives: noir

Recursively Yours

Anya, a ghost from my past life who had been more alive in my heart than perhaps anyone else.Anya, who in varied incarnations I had loved and killed off in many different ways in different stories. Yet I always resurrected … Continue reading

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Boneyard

I tell myself stories in the dark, Anya. Whether or not they help is either of primary consequence or none at all. Sometimes you have to walk through the boneyard in order to reach the garden. This is what I … Continue reading

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Tryst

It’s tough to always be in love with a ghost. It’s also easy. The living don’t stand a chance against ghosts. In loving ghosts there are no real complications, no real disappointments, no real anything. There’s lots of teething on … Continue reading

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Feast Days

I could feel the music of a slow future dying inside me. And the past very much alive, like shimmering beatific flowers, like luscious night thistles. The past is a changeable feast. Except it is a feast that eats and … Continue reading

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The Dark

Remember when we were kids and we’d sometimes have sleepovers and listen to the dark together? That’s what you called it Anya. Listening to the dark. And it was because of you Anya that I started naming different types of dark, … Continue reading

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Portrait of a Man in a Hotel Room

The man in the white hat and white suit walked into a shabby hotel room, carrying a battered brown valise. It was a valise that had seen mileage. The man opened the door, and then closed it behind him. He … Continue reading

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Shadow Play

Some shadows become women when no one is looking. Consider it the residual alchemy of fallout and mortal longing. #55 from Untitled Film Poems Image by Cindy Sherman

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New York Noir

Two more from Anthony Distefano’s “street scene” series.  

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The Walk

The vagaries of a portent, perhaps a reckoning– no, he wasn’t brave, but he was with angel, or some kind of numinous equivalent. A quest started way back when was about to take a turn one way or another. His … Continue reading

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Lure

He had traveled many crooked side-streets and shadow-scripted back-alleys to arrive at this point. The white-hot lure and bait of the angel, who had played hard to get, beckoned, with an ineffable wink.

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