Two double espressos on top of sleep deprivation have lodged my mind in a sweet spot where what I generally consider reality is heightened and blurred and unusually imbued with meaning. At this moment it seems to me the fog outside the grimy bus windows is the result of an atmosphere saturated with metaphor instead… Continue reading Coffee, Baseball, and Fear of Flying
Moderation. A dirty word. From moderate (Latin) via moderat: reduced, controlled. I’ve had too much moderation. I submit as evidence dreams I’ve not chased: Living in Mexico. Learning to sail. Chucking it all to write. What’ve I been controlled by? Fear. Fear whittled my dreams to wants. My hopes to goals. Thousands of compromises later… Continue reading Enlarging My Reduced Life
Steven Pressfield would call it the dumbest idea he’d ever heard — but I’ll wager that was probably before Robert Redford got involved. Pressfield’s idea blossomed into the novel that became his first commercial success, The Legend of Bagger Vance. Unsatisfied, the idea morphed into a movie starring Will Smith and Matt Damon — and directed by Robert Redford.… Continue reading How Steven Pressfield Sold America the Bhagavad Gita
Lexi’s small and cute, but ten years of Adam Smith’s invisible hand in her panties has knocked the bloom off her rose. Her next trick saunters up, checks her out. Lexi smiles, fluffs her hair. She settles for less, again. They go around the corner, upstairs. When Lexi’s back hits the sheets she’s figuring how many… Continue reading Working Capital
He was a racing camel “Tom Marley is a racing camel,” Ahmed said. “The fastest in all of the Sinai.” “Tom Marley?” I asked. “Not Bob?” Ahmed appeared somewhat surprised by my ignorance, but the stupidity of tourists is known the world over. Ahmed patiently explained that Tom Marley, the racing camel, was named after Tom… Continue reading A Camel Named Tom Marley Made Me Choose: Be Right or Be Happy?
50-words about silence In the sudden silence after the furnace blower shut off, Heather heard her husband whispering. His words were indistinct, his frustration clear. Heather stopped breathing, listened. A woman’s voice slipped through Bill’s cell phone. Bill’s reply: “She’s home early. I don’t know why.” Heather called out, “Bill, who’s that?” Silence. © Copyright 2021… Continue reading Late Night Caller
In traveling, as in life, there are some things you simply don’t tell your parents. Going beyond what happens at the hostel stays at the hostel, some things you just keep to yourself. Including things that would keep your mom up at night and lead to a blizzard of reminders about safety and links to… Continue reading Who Reads Warning Signs Crossing the Nile?
an anti-institutionalization manifesto Hemmed in by semi-sentient algorithms and AI grammar police reading at a seventh-grade level, surrounded by sheeple all too willing to swap their only-ness for approval, to sleep on the sidewalk to buy the latest customizable surveillance gadget, I hereby declare: The central denials of our age are self and place, by… Continue reading Remember Montag
Short Story Ellie pulled her hip waders up over her jeans and ran the straps through her belt. “There you go, Baby,” she said to Nathan, “You wanted to see me in thigh highs.” She mock-posed and laughed, the sun reflecting off her aviator sunglasses and her thick, black braids lying on her shoulder. Behind… Continue reading Thigh Highs
150-word story Ellie never knew when her mom was going to kick her out. When she was twelve, Ellie started sleeping in her shoes so she could walk to her auntie’s without worrying about broken glass on the sidewalk — or frostbitten toes in winter. When her mom wanted her back, she called the cops… Continue reading A Night in Her Shoes