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Tag Archives: Loss

The Diner: Edna

February 19, 2020

The Diner: Edna “Youth is wasted on the young.” — George Bernard Shaw         Dressed in her Sunday best, she sits …

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The Diner: Christa

October 16, 2014

The Diner: Christa “Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee?” Albert Camus         She lie in bed waiting …

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A Dog’s Life

September 16, 2014

        When I was a boy, I was no different than most boys—I wanted a dog.         After all, a dog is …

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The Vanity

September 14, 2014

        In the evenings, she found her comfort in the cushion of a set stool.         Sitting before a vanity, wrapped within …

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A & P

September 3, 2014

  after John Updike         Up until the year I finished middle school, I worked the soda-fountain of my father’s drugstore. …

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Charles

  • Charles's avatar Charles

“A man who tells secrets or stories must think of who is hearing or reading, for a story has as many versions as it has readers. Everyone takes what he wants or can from it and thus changes it to his measure. Some pick out parts and reject the rest, some strain the story through their mesh of prejudice, some paint it with their own delight. A story must have some points of contact with the reader to make him feel at home in it. Only then can he accept wonders.” ― John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent

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This blog contains short stories & journal entries of which I am reworking online. If any seem unfinished or incomplete, please check back. Thank you.

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Recent Posts: The Vale of Soul-Making

Bhanu Kapil Rider

I do not resist my death. — Bhanu Kapil Rider, from “WHAT IS THE SHAPE OF YOUR BODY?” The Vertical Interrogation of Strangers (Kelsey Street Press October 12, 2001)

Hilda Morley

As the birds know, who fly the continents, the oceans, for their secret reasons, a map of the earth written inside their bodies, marked under their breastbones: a continuance of the now most fragile, always travelled patiently enduring world ― Hilda Morley, from “Sea-Map” Cloudless at First (Moyer Bell and its subsidiaries July 1, 2007)

Bhanu Kapil Rider

I miss your bones. — Bhanu Kapil Rider, from “TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW ABOUT DISMEMBERMENT:,” The Vertical Interrogation of Strangers Strangers (Kelsey Street Press October 12, 2001)

Jed Rasula

My hope is that we’ll come to be less willing to confuse this [transformative comprehension] with writing, and understand writing again someday as a function of repetition, of which reading is the clearest sensual link we have with the invisibility of Desire. —Jed Rasula, “Statement on Reading in Writing,” L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E (October 1978)

Gordon Lightfoot

Does any one know where the love of God goesWhen the waves turn the minuted to hours ― Gordon Lightfoot, from “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,” Songbook (Zweitausendeins

Carl Rakosi

The thing that sits self-conscious in the intellect and longs to be great is not the soul. The soul wants only a gentle planet. ― Carl Rakosi

Franz Wright

Rilke in one of his letters said Christ is a pointing, a finger pointing at something and we are like dogs who keep barking and lunging at the hand.  — Franz Wright, “The New Jerusalem,” Walking to Martha’s Vineyard. (Knopf, 2003)

Friedrich Nietzsche

We children of the future, how could we be at home in this today?  We feel disfavor for all ideals that might lead one to feel at home even in this fragile, broken time of transition. The ice that still supports people today has become thin; the wind that breaks the thaw is blowing; we […]

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