Sometimes it’s best to just keep driving.
Earlier today
I was on my way to see Jared. His office is 34 miles from my house but it’s worth the drive. I had a legitimate need for his services and, of course, an ulterior motive.
(more…)Tag: short-story
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Rule #1
Jared: part 2
Know with whom you fucketh.
Our follow up coffee talk didn’t happen immediately. Sensing that it would be a point of no return, I was reluctant to schedule it at first. When I was younger, I would do things just for the scandal and to have something to write about. Now, in my older age and with higher stakes, I don’t make a move without a personally compelling reason. So many weeks had gone by marked with awkward verbal exchanges and unanswered texts that I became convinced I had made the whole thing up.
Except I didn’t.
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I Have A Story For Everywhere You’ve Been
I shot this photo in 2009 but I didn’t get it until just now.
It’s an Arizona Cardinal.
I’ve been all over the great American Southwest, to towns that time passed by.
Speeding down the mother road, a smoke in one hand and snacks littering the floor. Camera gear in the back of the car and hippie deodorant stinking since the day before.
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Zero Fucks Given: The End of Brangelina
Facebook has a major case of the poo-butt. Everyone is heartbroken over the demise of Brangelina.
It’s the end of an era, like when the dinosaurs died out and you could no longer buy cars with 8-track players in the dash.
I wonder if they can return all those children? Probably not, but maybe if they still have the receipts. I mean, it couldn’t hurt to ask. Right?
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A Room Down The Hall
I would concede that my descriptions over simplify reality exactly to the extent that they are misinterpreted.
I had wanted the room with the windows but it didn’t work out that way. Instead, my plants and I have taken refuge in the walk-in closet where we sit around a bare light bulb trading ghost stories. While I have finally succeeded in wrecking my marriage, there remains only one way out of this mess and that is to go through it.
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Watching The Flowers Sway
Prologue: The following is not fiction but it didn’t happen to me. Rather, it is the result of my one and only successful attempt at communicating with the dead. I believe this account to be true and accurate. As always, names have been changed but, in this case, it’s to protect the privacy of the innocent.
Watching The Flowers Sway
I was watching the flowers sway, staring at the sky through a screen of yellow petals. Clouds float by and birds soundlessly peck seeds from the round center of the flower faces. Butterflies alight on my hands. I don’t feel them but their wings are luminous. There is no time here. The jingle of keys breaks the silence.
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Missing: The King Of Porn
I have an obsession and it’s growing like a tumor. It all started with one little thought: I wonder whatever became of the self proclaimed King Of Porn, Samuel Crimson? Upon consulting the Googles I learned that he directed forty films in seven years and then vanished from the Earth four years ago. When I say vanished, that’s what I mean, not dead; there would be news stories of his demise but vanished and no one seems to care. Well now, if there’s a finger guaranteed to fondle my obsession trigger it’s not being able to find out something I want to know. What started as an innocent question is rapidly becoming a compulsive preoccupation. Like digging for lost keys in that duffel bag of a purse I carry around, I will turn this world upside down and shake it until I find what I’m looking for.
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No Rest For The Wicked 