I work as a reception clerk in the Lost & Found of days, with only my two shadows to keep me company. You’d think they would do something more interesting than stare at each other while I brew coffee in…
Sometimes, the map is the memory. I read somewhere once that the shaman’s song guides her across the landscapes of the soul. Her telling of the tale, reciting the journey, makes the power real.
Hunger throbbed between his eyes and echoed in his hollows. He was uneasy in his hide. Everything was emptiness and nothing changed. There were no trees. No earth, no sky, no food. No dirt to paw, no one to sight…
Ginnie made bread not chocolate cake and won a special ribbon, a white one. Chocolate had been the original plan.
It’s hard to forget the cadence of the opening paragraphs of Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream
one is for tambourine ghost dressed up in drag wandering in carnivals and pissing in ferris wheels
Our men were sick. My mother and I watched over the frog pond while our men healed. We wore men masks. The frogs, their fat was delicious and in high demand. Thieves often attempted to steal them in the night.…
Things in my room that I like: windows, the kind that push out rather than slide open. poster of James Dean. birthday card from a friend.
