Tag Archives: words

Intimate Measures

It is a lonely road. The road made of words. The words stay put. The feelings don’t. The words crystallize, become the flambed edges of something soft in the center. It is a struggle within, and a turn-on, mud-wrestling false … Continue reading

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Lip Service

There are the words on the lips of God, nodes and fables of the Unsayable, but Godlike lips have been hyper-inflated with collagen, have been altered and impaired by simulation and synthetic progress. God’s lips have been grossly fattened, blubbery … Continue reading

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Words and Silence

There’s no one left to finger, no one left to blame. Someone sang that. I wish I had sung that. I didn’t. I echo. I am echoes proliferating like genetically disturbed rabbits. Maybe neurodivergent rabbits copulating is a better term, … Continue reading

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Premature Nostalgia

   Ever since I can remember, I have been afflicted by what I call premature nostalgia. A simple definition of premature nostalgia: Mourning or grieving, or experiencing acutely a deep sense of loss, a profound wistfulness, ether before something happens … Continue reading

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Flint

   I came across what was no longer there, and thought—Burning books isn’t so terrible. What is a far worse fate for books, what really transforms them into grave casualties: apathy.    Indifference and neglect of books is a much … Continue reading

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Chelsea Hotel #3

   We Are Ugly But We Have the Music.    This is our title, our collective moniker, our flagless flag, denominating no allegiances, no cultural attachments, no geo-political persuasions. None of that. We dwell underground, or to be more accurate, … Continue reading

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No One Dreams in Color

Coming April 2026 from Unsolicited Press. Synopsis:Man Vanishes Without a Trace. This, the dramatic headline which stirs Andrew DiBenedetto’s curiosity, and initiates a life-changing course. The vanished man is Paul Kirby, whose nine-minute film, Wendigo—the only film Kirby ever made—was … Continue reading

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Metrics

Dust is time’s response to dreaming. Dreams–desolate, unmade, spectral—wafting as winds carry out the ceremonial twitch of pallbearing.

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Her Body, Her Name

   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 … Continue reading

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Domain

   Samuel Beckett tried to corral silence by making silence the domain of language. To not say anything, to ultimately embrace silence, would have meant an impossible task—setting down the pen, laying to rest the voice—and placing a moratorium on … Continue reading

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