Tag Archives: Prose

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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Joan of Arc

Enlightened, perhaps. God-engorged hormones, maybe. Regardless of why, Joan, you were the rebel prototype long before James Dean zipped up a red jacket, or Marlon Brando mumbled and curled his upperlip into a totem, before Louise Brooks and Josephine Baker … Continue reading

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Denis Johnson’s Sea Maiden

Review of Denis Johnson’s The Largesse of the Sea Maiden appearing in Riot Material. “Picture the sibilant music of blood-red sand shifting from one bulbous half of the hourglass to the other. Or black-and-white film footage, bearing a scarred geography … Continue reading

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Sylvia Plath

To be a mother, and to double as a dark sorceress, a cleaver of dried bones, could not have been easy. Especially in the 1950s. They burned witches then, as well as reds and blacks and faggots, and other things … Continue reading

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Growing Young

I want to grow young with you, she said. It made perfect sense. People had it all wrong. You don’t grow old, your body, this borrowed vessel, it withers and ages and decays, your body grows old, your brain grows … Continue reading

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Snapshot

(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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Meeting D.J.

(Excerpt from Raking the Dust) I see you decided to join me. I didn’t want you to drink alone. We sat at an empty table flanking the wall. The band was now playing a mournful ballad.  Something about two lovers … Continue reading

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Paper Trail

Completed draft of my new novel, No Man’s Brooklyn. A return to childhood, to the source of ghosts, to Brooklyn roots.

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Super Hero

(Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.)    I was six when I found out I’d never become a superhero.    We were in the kitchen. Me, my mother, and father. My father’s hand was around my mother’s throat. He had a … Continue reading

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