A bunch of beginnings of short stories I’m trying to work on. And a poem. And a dream. Not in that order. As one can see, they don’t get too terrible far before pausing indefinitely. The status quo still applies: feel free to comment, suggest, rip apart with a constructive purpose.
Continue Reading Add comment October 2nd, 2009 Edit
Note: This is a rough draft. Please feel free to tag it up, to edit it up, to rough it up. It needs proofreading. It needs cohesion work. It needs to be unjumbled.
I do not separate the world into sectors of belief. I do not sector the world into monotheists and polytheists, into the believers of the three big monotheisms, and the rest. I do not see the world as separated by religion, language or political ideology. I do not see a capitalist world vs. a communist world. I do not see a free world vs. a totalitarian world.
I see a world in which its people segregate themselves from the rest. Claim to be better than the rest. Claim to be different than the rest.
This separatism, of which I partake, takes away the human designation from most of its denizens. I do not partake by separating “human” from “beings.” I separate the world into human beings I believe I can trust and everybody else.
When the human is taken away from human being, we’re left with being. A being is a mammal, is a reptile, is a bird, is a invertebrate, is a fish. Grouping half the population, the majority of the population or everyone who does not believe in the small, specified set of beliefs in which one believes into the “being” category leaves the door open to Pandora.
Continue Reading Add comment September 12th, 2009 Edit
I, Wheeler, detail life changes and big moves. Across the world.
Continue Reading 1573 comments February 22nd, 2009 Edit
Well, Well, Well, Noisyroom, it has been too long.
Continue Reading 6 comments May 6th, 2008 Edit
We will hide in rooms
of corpses in clear coffins;
our names carved into every surface,
our fortunes told in fish eyes
and sharks’ teeth.
We are frogs in formaldehyde,
puffed up like tear-stained faces,
motel pillows;
we are jellyfish in jars,
hanging like bleached willows;
tangled tentacles dangle, flaccid,
and spectres of the Pacific
will not stir us.
In the mother-of-pearl,
in the birds of paradise,
in the ribcages and tortoiseshells,
we linger, petrified,
and do not hope to be unearthed.
Now we stand like stick figures
pinned to twilight
as orange and blue hesitate in the sky;
starlings swarm across the stuttered sunset,
bubbling and breaking, meandering and mingling;
a sentient storm that plummets to the horizon
and rises on an unseen current.
In that paradise of half-light,
we wait and pretend
that you and I can stay undecided
and time moves on without us.
3 comments April 5th, 2008 Edit
6 comments December 29th, 2007 Edit
A dream…
Continue Reading 9 comments December 28th, 2007 Edit
Short story. Have at it.
Continue Reading 541 comments November 28th, 2007 Edit
Short story. Tell me what you think please.
Continue Reading 10296 comments November 5th, 2007 Edit