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…
For everything there is a season, And a time for every purpose under heaven.
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak.
A time to write short stories, A time to rant truths.
About War in General and Specific
I faced the draft during the Vietnam Invasion and I was among those who were paying close attention. My name was going to be put into the USofA Southeast Asian Death Lottery. I had a stake in this insane military extravaganza playing out on the 10…
I have lived in New York City way more than half my life. While there were entire life episodes in Chicago and Vermont — I always came back.
People travel from all over the world to visit this chaotic hub of human activity and I get to flâneur, sashay or public-transport around it whenever time allows.
Wherever I’ve lived in the city my own neighborhood has always been just a home base from which to explore outward — to the far ends of all five boroughs.
I love music.
And all the many ways this magic elixir for the mind and body and spirit is produced.
My favorite instrument is the human voice.
Friends, readers, listeners . . . Lend me your ears.
The following songs include amazing vocal pyrotechnics.
You absolutely must listen through to the very end of each one as the vocals spiral higher and wider—these singers giving their all—which turns out to be in the four+ octave range.
I Heard The Voice Of Jesus — Turley Richards
Turley Richards (12 June1941) is an American singer and guitarist.
Yep, still get goosebumps with…
I remember standing on a street corner with the black painter Beauford Delaney down in the Village, waiting for the light to change, and he pointed down and said, ‘Look.’ I looked and all I saw was water. And he said, ‘Look again,’ which I did, and I saw oil on the water and the city reflected in the puddle. It was a great revelation to me. I can’t explain it. He taught me how to see, and how to trust what I saw. Painters have often taught writers how to see. And once you’ve had that experience, you see…
Looking down into the snow globe
as the last few flakes settle down
my mind wanders inside that small chalet in there
then down the hall to the room painted grey
where the philosophers are deconstructing nursery rhymes.
There are eight gathered here.
Unlike the twelve angry men
—they are not here to reach a Verdict.
But rather to shape, like sculptors
—an Opinion. And thus a course of action.
While I await the result
to build my course of action
the Tinker (in this case Bell)
and a Tailor named Elizabeth
are ruminating appetizers by the buffet table.
It began with my turning over and ignoring the morning alarm clock. It ended with my contacting lawyers. We are such stuff.
Moving along, there was a passing remark from my supervisor, Peter, in the cafeteria—we were both getting a coffee. I sensed it was a Monday.
He said something about the job market being better these days and my possibilities of finding something “better than this humdrum”.
It stuck with me all day, gnawing away as I picked the orders, packed them, and set the filled carts by the back docks for pickup. Trancelike repetition.
When we’re asleep going…
8 August 2021 is the 23rd Annual One World Orgasm day.
(For the more deistically minded: Global Orgasm Day.)
I wrote about it in detail last year.
Whether you’re a fan of holidays, sex and orgasms, movies, art, plagiarism, peace on earth, humor, even Arthur C. Clarke—I encourage you to read it.
One World Orgasm Day (6 August 2020)
Sex Stories Over The Decades
Since my 20’s (that would be 4+ decades ago) I have written a number of short stories with, to various degrees, sexual overtones and undertones.
Some relationship focused—some hovering over the bed.
The story locations vary…
Every weekday morning as he poured his first cup of coffee, his eyes still unable to focus, he’d yell from the kitchen — anybody famous die?
And every morning, from where she sat, with her by-that-time second cup of coffee, eyes focused on something on the computer, she’d yell back—Who’s asking?
One of the remaining living—was always the reply—the next verbal loop in their morning routine.
Because this dance was rehearsed daily she had done her “research” and had the answers prepared as he came into the room to sit down at his desk.
It was after Tone’s fortieth birthday party that they came to the decision.
As Scarlett was leaving to walk their father home, Tone pulled her aside and asked if she could come back later. Y’know, to help clean up—he suggested.But between their eyes was the truth of what they had to talk about.
By the time she had returned Tone’s few remaining friends had gone.
As they busied themselves straightening up he broke the silence.
We have to get Dad into a safer place. He can’t continue living alone anymore.
Since their mother had died, Scarlett and Tone always invited…