In the movie I was watching tonight two parents were shown at the grave of their son who had died in a war. They mourned with woe and I boiled with rage.
And thus came this.
My thoughts began . . . If my son had been killed in Vietnam . . . but immediately dissolved into a blind thoughtless rage as I imagined one of my children dying so senselessly, serving such an insane agenda. In the mad furor that was stirred in my mind by this unthinkable possibility an image came to mind of The Catonsville Nine and…
“I live in New York City. There’s a horror movie playing outside on the big screen. They’ve locked the theaters doors so we’re in here for the duration. Even the ticket seller can’t tell us how long this feature runs.
I want to talk about being scared.”
— from Through A Harlem Window, Darkly ~Witnessing the Unspeakable
As the sirens outside raged, I wrote and made art.
27 March 2020
A Wordless Conversation ~ Love in the Time of Coronavirus
“Even though you could sense the joy right through the surgical masks, they each lowered them for a minute…
He lay his head on the pillow, eyes closing to the outlines of the room created by the streetlight through the curtains.
And so his ears took over the vigilance. As his body relaxed on the bed he pulled a cool smooth sheet over himself.
They had made love. She was half way to dreams already. Even during a war people need sleep, need touch.
Through the window from outside that familiar hum — something he’d never taken the time to identify, something just always there filling the night air. He has surmised a generator. He has imagined a hovering…
In August 2020, I set myself the challenge of creating a daily digital collage based on an image and a concept. The image was that of the antique Omega watch that belonged to my Mom and the concept was Time.
Each of my published stories contains a link to RemingtonWrite’s story, and vice versa.
Below are links to all 31 of my stories, and thus, within…
“Until the day breaks and the shadows flee, I will go to the mountain of myrrh and to the hill of incense.” — Song of Solomon 4:6
They met at a flower show twenty years ago today. They were both extending their necks to get a sniff of a beautiful orange rose, their noses almost touching—when Destiny knocked their heads together. From that day onward their passionate lovelust seemed to always be on fire and it certainly was today.
For their anniversary they went for a day at Coney Island. The weather was beautifully warm for a late day in…
and then it is gone,
We walked through the woods this afternoon
(and though we had them
not enough to open umbrellas)
—the drops caught by the fresh green canopy
of newly emerged leaves
over the path.
Almost, just almost, you could feel
the throbbing humming pulsing—
flower scents mingling
with wet earth smells of decay.
The passionate watercolor brushes of Charles Burchfield
would be my choice for trying to capture
this palpitating quivering trembling mural
of early spring.
We talked very little— mostly adjectives of Awe. Diving acrobats, the birds from tree…
I have seen an amazing number of live performances in my life.
My brain’s memory server — approaching seven decades of constantly adding data, necessary and inconsequential alike—is only so accessible and growing quite unreliable.
Ticket stubs help.
I have only a hundred or so ticket stubs saved. Here are a few special ones.
Fantastic show and an equally great story.
For the past couple years, on my Neverending New York City Walking Tour, I have watched the viral spread of empty retail spaces.
A combination of reasons — online shopping, corporate franchising, absurd retail space costs (in Manhattan they can range from $100 to over $1000 per square foot monthly)—all had created more and more of these abandoned retail shells. Cost of running a business (health care and wages) permit process.
I began taking photographs.
Do You Want Your Palm Red?
There is a dolphin at the zoo that speaks Italian—your sister says she’s shared an anchovy with it. She always brings this up as distraction whenever talk of your demise comes up. When she was a teen Adeline wanted to be a dancer selling gelato down by the riverside, but you, replacing both of your dead parents, discouraged her with searing harshness. (Sherlock never managed to plumb the depths of your cruel psyche to reach anything resembling a reason for this vile behavior. The book was just titled The Case of The Devil Brother.)…