Tag Archives: Prose

The Jackdaw and The Doll

Posted on January 29, 2020 by

A work in progress street scene from “The Jackdaw and the Doll,” a fable I wrote inspired by a story about Franz Kafka. The book is being illustrated by Izumi Yokoyama, as her artistry interprets and realizes a world of … Continue reading →

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The Fool

Posted on December 9, 2019 by

Review of Anne Serre’s The Fool (and Other Moral Tales). Among the linty cling of rumors and backwashed gossip spread around the barrooms and laundromats of the universe, circulates this mortuary nugget: Hey, did you know that Ego, when it … Continue reading →

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Brooklyn for Reel

Posted on November 25, 2019 by

Video recording of a reading from my novel, No Man’s Brooklyn, as part of “Italian Good Fellas Night” at SOMOS (Taos, NM). In this scene, father and son pay a visit to Atlantic City, where gambling, drinking and storytelling play out … Continue reading →

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Warehouse

Posted on November 20, 2019 by

A deserted warehouse. This is where the Red Joans gather. It is the same deserted warehouse, again and again, an exact replica, that serves as the meeting-place for all the Red Joans. The warehouse is a desolate shrine to recursion, … Continue reading →

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Roles of a Lifetime

Posted on November 11, 2019 by

Evie often had trouble determining where she ended, and someone else began. That someone else being a role she adopted for stage. It was a common problem, a customary side-effect to acting, she understood that, but what vexed her most … Continue reading →

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Osmosis

Posted on November 9, 2019 by

The coke parties were my favorite. It was when everyone was happiest. Everyone usually meant my mother, father, and their friends, Tony and Dina.    My mother would tell me—Tony and Dina are coming over tonight—and I knew that meant … Continue reading →

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The Parlor

Posted on November 9, 2019 by

   The girl who was to give me the special massage was young. It was hard to say how young. She could have been twenty-five, could have been twelve. She also could have been one-hundred, or one-hundred and twenty, an … Continue reading →

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Between Stations

Posted on November 9, 2019 by

   I was on the subway platform waiting for the train when I spotted a thin girl in torn jeans and bright green tank-top walking in my direction. Her hair was a bushel of unruliness. As the girl drew nearer … Continue reading →

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Demasking is a Crime

Posted on November 8, 2019 by

Signs everywhere: rectangular slabs of mildly glowing metal that warned in red lettering: Demasking is a crime. It was in the year _______ that a maskless society had ceased to exist. A decision was made by people who made decisions … Continue reading →

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These Glacial Times

Posted on November 8, 2019 by

I have been in a coma now for sixty-seven days. No one reaches me anymore. And I don’t reach them. Everything that has to do with reaching—in, out—all of that is done. It is jazz that has lost its voice. … Continue reading →

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