“The Silk-Cotton Tree” by Jean Wolfersteig
As usual, Deadman has left me a car at the airport, and, for the first time since Irma hit, I bump along the rutted streets of Road Town.
As usual, Deadman has left me a car at the airport, and, for the first time since Irma hit, I bump along the rutted streets of Road Town.
When my youngest son is one year old, he poops out a rock.
Pepper, it’s you and me now. Haven’t we been happy long as we stayed close?
The moon rose this night as it had done in the days, months, and years before, as it would tomorrow and the night after that if life remained, but this night was different.
I was awakened at six a.m. after a long night of serious drink chasing down seven days of too much speed. Anvil head, brain ready to splatter, body wrought with ache and despair. Wanting nothing more than some shut-eye, against the ghost-white face of an unforgiving, barbaric narco-crash, I was brought back to the shock of life by a telephone call from an LAPD detective looking for my best friend . . .
The willowy figure is first spotted alongside the trail, a few feet ahead of her in the scraggy woodland. She counts the number of steps she will take to position herself behind him for optimal throat-cutting proximity.
“I dew wheat.” I never knew the power of words until my two year old asked to “do it.” Those two little words sent dread flying through my body.
Supernatural Strategies for Making a Rock ‘n’ Roll Group author Ian Svenonius and his band The Make-Up performed this past weekend at Coachella 2013. “I haven’t had this much fun at a show since I saw the Make-up perform at Bowery Ballroom back in 1998. Yes, Ian, you are still one of my all-time favorites,” […]