What did you choose? What are your intentions? You can always help. Water and a little tenderness in your touch. But words matter, too. They are felt, not just heard. They are ingested, not just listened to, you've got to speak with love, not…

until the last wisps started their heartless descent admitted by default to this curious flock a sorority I never wanted to join the red poison drips relentless

He turned off the light. His wife was breathing slowly. At her bedside, he spoke of her friends the roses, of the pretty carnation brooch he had pinned to her silk scarf, of the alluring hat which fitted her so well. Small souvenirs, simple and vivid, the heavy night…

My whiskey drunk, I twist around to catch the white blur of the great horned owl as it swoops from telephone pole to fence post, ears alert, ready to undermine the idea of calm and quiet I’d let settle over me as I drained my glass.

Blank space / governs the minds of small children

Friday night, 80s halcyon,a memory of October bowling.The suburban lanes loudwith kids and kinetic releaseof balls slamming on maple.I have no footwork, no senseof release, fingers sweatyin the grips, resin droppingwith a hollow boomfollowed by derision from more adept…

Erma's last task, as it happened...

Chris and I have an understanding. We've been playing cops and robbers all morning, running around and stirring up shit.

There's a nice line in M. Tafuri's essay “Architecture and Cities in the United States 1870-1910” concerning the relationship between land values and building costs:“… whereas the simple parceling-up of surface lots is the product of an elementary…

overheard

Now her right breast was annoying her.

Interviewer: So, you walk on water, right? How is that possible? Jesus Lizard: Well, I only run on water, and upright on my hind legs. Haha, if I tried just walking on water I’d sink quicker than St. Peter!

Creating a world in which no one believes . . . killing a world in which no one could believe.

The ambient sound wheezes on.

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Maybe you could buy a Volunteer,” Carol suggested. Ma huffed. “You know we don't have the money for that. And besides I never liked the idea of Volunteers — taking advantage of the poor like that.”

Ian Markham stood before the massive triangular window of Circularity's pyramidal office building. Its Technicolor hologram, a coup in advertising sloganeering, urgently flashed the company's ubiquitous tagline—IT'S NOT JUST AN ADVENTURE. IT'S A SECOND CHANCE! …