Pseudologia Fantastica / Fantastica Conficiens (Truth, Fiction, & Deceit)

I won’t lie—I am seven months behind in my National Geographic subscription. It’s not that I’m okay with letting things pile up. There’s just so much demand on my time. It’s a problem, but it only affects me. What am I to the big, wide world? Even still, I try to keep up. National Geographic... Continue Reading →


Like They Said…

"I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us…we need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A BOOK MUST BE THE AXE... Continue Reading →

I Seek the Bots

hashtagged, optimized, baptized by Google first page fresh meat desperate kid like like love? ok, let's not scroll too far three clicks, buzzwords, news cycling fake but not fiction fight the right causes network bridges don't burn no turning back algebra abracadabra algorithm all on the rhythm penis pills? mail-order wives? monthly income from home?... Continue Reading →

The Plaza Paper (A True Story)

I found it half-hidden in the seam of a decorative pillar. A standard white 8.5" x 11", filled with printed text on one-side. The font is size 11 Calibri, Microsoft Word's most recent default. The first thing I can tell is that someone opened the program and started typing before firing it off to the... Continue Reading →

Autumnal Equinox (Freewriting S.A.D)

Although I have a hard time identifying with any belief system, one's actions can sometimes categorize one's self into certain identities. With that said, I guess I'm fairly pagan--as wonderfully nebulous as that is. I celebrate the solstices and equinoxes. They designate important time periods in my part of the world, and are particularly important... Continue Reading →

Turtle Shell (a poem)

I found a sacred space in the crystal cave of my heart---   a holy cavern inside a turtle shell at the bottom of a lake---   where the turtle eats my roots, bunches bouquets with my shoots, looks askew as it redecorates the clay where I warm my blood---   warmer than mulled wine---... Continue Reading →

Reading 2017 into 1886

I don't particularly like to write in books. I know people who keep Foster Wallace footnotes in the margins of all their books. Like most things, I have an exception: my Nietzsche books. They are fair game. Friedrich Nietzsche's works, when not aphorisms, are dense--they are difficult to scan. I read and re-read Nietzsche, the... Continue Reading →

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