Here at 30,000 feet the weather is below and the sun is above; hot, bright, burning her face and unchanging.
I’m not even speaking English now, she thinks in vague images.
She’s sleep deprived and hungry but sees the edge of happiness on the horizon.
Tag: writing
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Above The Clouds
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The Lumberjack
There once was a young lumberjack who was very skilled at what he did. This lumberjack was so strong and so talented that he could cut down nearly twice the number of trees in one day as anyone else and he was widely regarded as the best in the land. All the girls wanted to get with him and all the boys wanted to be him. He was happy and proud of himself. He was comfortable in the idea that he would always be at the top of his game.
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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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The Time In Between
East Coast Ira walks in the leaves of autumn.
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They smell like fall.
They smell like frost.
They smell like change. -
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 