Tag Archives: photography

This Century or Next

Posted on July 23, 2019 by

Perhaps, in a hundred years, none of this would matter— the man across the street would just be a man and not her husband holding hands with that bitch from 5-C who had the nerve to knock on their door … Continue reading →

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Crosswalk

Posted on July 23, 2019 by

There was a staggered repeatability to her days which she counted upon for a semblance of security and rightness, so you can imagine her surprise when she looked across the street and saw a woman identical to herself, same head … Continue reading →

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Holding Pattern

Posted on July 23, 2019 by

Was it fate, a fire sale, history? The longest-running soap serial was drawing to a close, if only the damned latch hadn’t been broken, if only escape plans could be executed without the claim of baggage.   (Photo by Cindy … Continue reading →

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At a Loss

Posted on July 11, 2019 by

No matter how many times she played it over and over in her mind she couldn’t for the life of her digest the magnitude of what had been taken and why.   (Photo by Cindy Sherman)

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Homecoming

Posted on July 11, 2019 by

All it would take is a single match, and everything inside her that had dried into tinder. Funny, that it would be the house and not her engulfed in flames, but the heat would blister and violently press needles into … Continue reading →

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Movie Still

Posted on July 10, 2019 by

Could they see through her? Her want of glamour preserved, though absence laid claim?   (Photo by Cindy Sherman)

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Travelogue

Posted on July 10, 2019 by

She never did go anywhere, you know? Some ghosts become totemic stand-bys for the lives they never led, gloaming potentialties that passed, in solemn wisp, from dream to dream, then fade.   (Photo by Cindy Sherman)

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Panoply

Posted on July 10, 2019 by

Consternation, from multiple perspectives— Someone must decide.   (Photo by Cindy Sherman)

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Dusting

Posted on July 10, 2019 by

You don’t know where the nights go, what apparitions with monstrous appetites do the swallowing. It is a mystery, soundless, unsigned. But what remained in the whorish glare of daytime were all the undigested bits, the flesh creeping with prickly … Continue reading →

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Following

Posted on July 10, 2019 by

To become a vagrant to the territory of one’s own self, requires the right kind of corridor, an elliptical sense of fugue, and footfalls which softly echo a stalker’s unmitigated pursuit.   (Photo by Cindy Sherman)

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