Category Archives: General

from The Eternal Loneliness of Clocks /2

After the torturous night of fever and not being able to sleep or write, Noah woke to words again—and the calm they created for him: a path he could not see all night opened in daylight, after dreamless sleep, to … Continue reading

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from The Eternal Loneliness of Clocks [novel; literary fiction]

Noah Ranson was alone on New Year’s Eve and okay with that, he half-convinced himself, as he watched the flames of the fire roiling in the fireplace turn goldfish orange, scarlet red, and light blue. There was something to be … Continue reading

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/24 [from] iterations of summer [september]

/24 Spiritual hunger has ebbed// satiated, in dub[i]o[us] fact— that desire to have things|| feed the null set ¥ stuff new abysses with light, possibly color• << impossible burnt sienna~~inside a company>> an ongoing conversation with the universe.   It’s … Continue reading

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/21 [from] iterations of summer [september]

/21   The holiday memo was email-bombed COB Friday to all involved parties with some supervisors bcc-ed in, but none of   the workers fucking cared. Driving for too many days leaning into the serpentine roads with cars following much … Continue reading

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/23 [from] iterations of summer [september]

/23   The words were very hungry and, in turn, made the people who heard them hungry.   Some of the captivated audience would go for celebratory pizza and beer and talk utter bullshit;   others flew home in metal-boxes … Continue reading

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from vi. entropy–iPhone mobius strip [hybrid]

 

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THE MUSIC OF LOSS

I lost the night, the skeleton key to my grandmother’s china cabinet, my shadow at the airfield when the military planes went by, the turquoise and chartreuse scarf my mother brought me back from Ireland last May, my resolve. I … Continue reading

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MOURNING

written after Henry Jopek [my father] passed away on March 31, 2015 Shed the black cloths of mourning for white lilies, gladiolas, tulips, hyacinth. A private grieving finally alone in the House. Thank God. Birds sleeping in the rain in … Continue reading

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/19 [from] iterations of summer [august]

If I am mute this opening sequence of September {a handful of days, perhaps, to recompose myself after overloaded//depletion of too*many*people//hurry— winding//uphill pot-holed roads—in my claustrophobic//mercurial {silver} metal-box-chariot {epithet: Frightened Minnow Lost at High Tide}— < < < I may … Continue reading

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/2 [from] iterations of summer [june]

Count the steps to the mailbox at night, the number of seconds in emotional freefall, the minutes left in the hour, the hours until the work finish line. There is always more time [on some level] somewhere. When flipping the … Continue reading

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