fiction

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Sep 23, 2013

lucky part thirteen in my exquisite corpse with ariel

keys
this drawing comes with a story and mp3 reading
Sep 9, 2013 / 5 notes

keys

this drawing comes with a story and mp3 reading

sending out the fall circular for cigar-tin stories
if you’d like to be on the email list, just let me knowTHERE ARE STORIES
Sep 9, 2013 / 4 notes

sending out the fall circular for cigar-tin stories

if you’d like to be on the email list, just let me know

THERE ARE STORIES

Jun 18, 2013 / 1 note

A short story about where we are.

i’m not afraid of meteors (today)
mixed media on canvas
6 x 6 x 1.5 inches
in the shop
May 3, 2012 / 3 notes

i’m not afraid of meteors (today)

mixed media on canvas

6 x 6 x 1.5 inches

in the shop

Victory’s family visits. Pyrrhic brings her paintings, new ones with touches of fire, red in a swirling sky, the paper curled at the edges. Visiting hours are over at eight o’clock. On the drive home one night her dad is mesmerized by a passing car, by the sight of two little Asian girls crowding their heads out the window, laughing into the open air. He swerves into them. Both cars careen off the road, jumping like angry beetles.~ from Victory Girl
The dictator is dead. His people – and he would call them that, even now – are rejoicing. Especially in the Christian south, they dance and sing and spit gleeful curses to the ground. In the capital city of the north – where his body hangs in the parade square, in increasingly negative metamorphosis, man made into corpse chrysalis, now a pinata for the shouting crowds – the celebrations are ugly fueled by hate. Iggly! they cry. Devil! Even a grandmother gets in on the fun, firing a pistol point-blank into his face. They showed that one on the news. There is no pity anymore. Everyone blames him for the war and the terror.~ from Death of a Dictator
Two excerpts from my 2010 short story collection, Punishing Ugly Children. I still have copies left, and they’re still in my shop.
Apr 27, 2012

Victory’s family visits. Pyrrhic brings her paintings, new ones with touches of fire, red in a swirling sky, the paper curled at the edges. Visiting hours are over at eight o’clock. On the drive home one night her dad is mesmerized by a passing car, by the sight of two little Asian girls crowding their heads out the window, laughing into the open air. He swerves into them. Both cars careen off the road, jumping like angry beetles.
~ from Victory Girl

The dictator is dead. His people – and he would call them that, even now – are rejoicing. Especially in the Christian south, they dance and sing and spit gleeful curses to the ground. In the capital city of the north – where his body hangs in the parade square, in increasingly negative metamorphosis, man made into corpse chrysalis, now a pinata for the shouting crowds – the celebrations are ugly fueled by hate. Iggly! they cry. Devil! Even a grandmother gets in on the fun, firing a pistol point-blank into his face. They showed that one on the news. There is no pity anymore. Everyone blames him for the war and the terror.
~ from Death of a Dictator

Two excerpts from my 2010 short story collection, Punishing Ugly Children. I still have copies left, and they’re still in my shop.