IT WAS AN EVENING dedicated to furthering my slow and painful healing process--picking away the edges of this awful bloody red patch of heartbreak scab i have left as a result of having my rope cut away while i was happily being dragged along the Highway of Love at a steady one hundred and ten miles an hour. the weekend had been dedicated to bad news, savage confrontations, mean spirited advice from well meaning and respected friends topped off by a fifty mile drive into the southern edge of northern california's ultra hippie kingdom at a place called "ectotopia" where i petted goats with tom bombadil and watched hippies shoot frogs between the eyes with bb guns.
i generally hate ...
categorized as Uncategorized.
Losing His Head
by Michael C. Keith Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him . . . —William Shakespeare To the outside world Jerry Farelli appeared to have everything life could offer: good looks, excellent health, and substantial ...
Confluence: Three Photographs
Images by David Goldberg David Goldberg is a San Francisco photographer whose images have shown extensively in both the Bay Area & Los Angeles. He has published three books & ...
Incident at Oscuro
by Steve Moore She was laying on the edge of the road with her head a good foot past the white line. At first, Tennessee thought that she must've been a large dog; ...
Finding me hesitant, the daffodils fall back
By Holly Day Finding Me hesitant, the daffodils fall back as if they know their kind is alien here, in the preserved greenstone steppes once home to trilobites and scaly invertebrate worms. only the hardiest flowers grow here, those that can ...
Gleam
by Niall Boyce I had lost track of the days. The first hint that I was near my destination was the glimmer of the plastic sheets flapping in the desert breeze. It was ...
The Separation, Chapter 12: “The Magic Mountain”
[Table of Contents] The world was changing. The stories had become different. Ever since that one scary night. She heard guns again, and fear clawed at her insides and a hideous image ...
The Skin Shop
By Rosanne Griffeth This morning, there is no skin. No callous, no glove, no covering, just pink, flayed tissue with no granulation and white tendons barely holding everything together. I am a study ...
The Courtship of Lady Boo-Boo
By Bosley Gravel (apologies to Charles Dodgson) In the land of Nod . . . Tweedledee threw three knives, one after the other; they sailed through the air, spinning in a blur of ...
The Separation, Chapter 11: “Refugee Crises”
[Table of Contents] By Josh Wilson The small woman had a downturned mouth and the kind of lines around her eyes that don't come from laughter. She picked at her cuticles and tugged ...