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Meta
Tag Archives: Prose
Goblins
Red wind spirits. They carry people off. Mostly mothers, no, not mostly mothers, than is an allegorical kink, an innate twist, it feels like mostly-mothers, and so legend instantly concretizes itself in that feeling-force. The red wind spirits are also … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged family, goblins, grief, loss, mothers and daughters, Poetry, Prose, red wind spirits, slow burn, vanished
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Because the Night
Half-punk-scarecrow, half-mystic-urchin, Patti Smith seems to exist on the yellowed edges of saudade: the time-carved café table, the books she carried with her on her trips (as trusted and beloved companions), the way she packs light like The Fool, her … Continue reading
Posted in Artwork, Books, Cinema, photography, Poetry, Press, Prose, Uncategorized
Tagged artist, because the night, fragment, imagination, music, patti smith, Poetry, Prose, romantic, vision, visionary, writer
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Sepia
Nostalgia is a death-trap, eating its own tail and leading nowhere. Nostalgia copulates with ghosts in dusty storage rooms and snakelike corridors. Now and again and again now never is nostalgia’s recipe and calling card. Nostalgia is the last picture … Continue reading
Posted in Artwork, Cinema, photography, Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized
Tagged calendar, ephemera, eternity, fragment, Literary, nostalgia, photography, Poetry, Prose, time, travel
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Way Station
I walked to the train station at night. I was going to drive. It was a hot day, I had already been out walking in the sun, and I thought—just drive to the train station. But when it was time … Continue reading
Posted in photography, Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized
Tagged america, desolation, fiction, fragment, Prose, railroad, rain, shadows, story, town, train station, travel, writing
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Of Place and Haunt
It was a town caught in the thorny stasis between living and dying, between mortuary and chrysalis. I want to examine why it is I am drawn to places like this, why I always return to this specific feeling of … Continue reading
Posted in Artwork, photography, Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized
Tagged desolation, dilapidated, erosion, fiction, fragment, ghosts, inner world, place, Prose, story, time, town, travel, writing
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Miko
Miko was a singer with her voice in the clouds. They called Miko blue. Occasionally there would be flashes of red. In the fall, Miko would softly mimic the elegy of leaves and become yellow. She would, in voice and … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged fiction, fragment, ghost story, lost hours, music, Poetry, Prose, search, singer, song
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The Passion of Joan of Arc
“To know the face of Renee Maria Falconetti, a living mask of plasticity molded to the inner world of a young Joan, is to know the private history of a spiritual crisis. Falconetti wrings every last nuance and syllable out … Continue reading
Posted in Artwork, Audio, Books, Cinema, photography, Poetry, Press, Prose, Publications, Theater, Uncategorized, Video
Tagged agony, american novel, canadian press, carl theodore dreyer, ecstasy, fiction, joan of arc, masterwork, movies, novel, passion of joan of arc, Poetry, Prose, renee maria bertorelli, saint joan, silent cinema, silent film, Surrealism
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Bert and George
“All Bert and George ever did was wander in the desert. An endless wandering, sandblasted peregrinations to nowhere, a tubercular odyssey with no point. They wandered, kept each other company, drove each other nuts, got into and out of scrapes … Continue reading
Posted in Artwork, Audio, Books, Cinema, photography, Poetry, Press, Prose, Publications, Theater, Uncategorized, Video
Tagged american novel, avant garde, bert williams, black pioneers, canadian press, Cinema, comedy, early 20th century, fiction, george walker, novel, Poetry, Prose, story, Surrealism, Theater, tragedy, vaudeville, williams and walker
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Seance
It was a time in her life when she was not there, not inside herself or her life. And she was pregnant. Pregnant by the wrong man, so many wrong turns and wrong men, and this one, a mislaid night … Continue reading
Moonstruck
A lamp clicks on. A swath of gauzy light projects cinematically onto a chrome operating table, where an umbrella and a sewing machine are making love. Are about to make love. Have already made love. Their romance transcends tenses and … Continue reading
John Biscello 