My brother Sid was a fire starter who started early. He was twelve. He was precocious. He was an igniter atrocious. He was a pyromaniac poet laureate . . .
Tag: Seamus Scanlon
It was a rainy day in Galway. Nothing new—Galway and rain are synonymous, along with fog, mist, hailstones, slippery footpaths, pneumonia . . .
Dusk was falling on a high summer day in Galway City, a place that claimed me but never loved me . . .
The new teacher, Mister Moran, was on an exchange program from New York. Our school was a nickname maelstrom—Ghoul, Moose, Bull, Scab, Pox-face, Arse-brain. He was Moron straight off. He got off easy. You should have seen him . . .
Featured: Music/Popular Culture/Art
- Paradoxia: A Predator’s Diary
- 100 Posters/134 Squirrels
- No One Told Me Not to Do This
- Hairstyles of the Damned
- The Immune System
- Please Don’t Bomb the Suburbs
- This Is the Noise That Keeps Me Awake
- Simon’s Cat Off to the Vet . . . and Other Cat-astrophes
- Please Take Me Off the Guest List
- Artificial Light
- The Bear Who Wasn’t There: And the Fabulous Forest