Fiction & Poetry
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Hello, everyone! For all who see this, I’m planning on shifting my blog over to Substack, which is a kind of social media for writers / blogging platform. WordPress (through which I created this website) has been a wonderful place to begin blogging, but I’ve been persuaded recently (mostly due to Substack’s versatility, popularity, and
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The tension settled as Pyg’s drink loosened his lips and with it his resolve. He soon returned to his old self, spilling memorized lines, verses, and lyrics unapologetically. The four of them talked until sobriety faded into a memory, forgetting words as they were said and drinks as they were drunk, the clanging of goblets
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to write a word on you would be a first for me my breath catching as my thoughts before you freeze the bareness of your lines asking for a dress of words already there and wishing nonetheless a vision to be spared as my heart within me races to spaces far and wide never-before-been places
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Pyg led Virgil out of the bathroom and down a hallway off the breakfast room. Oil paintings and old pictures of old-looking people hanging crookedly on plastered walls above peculiar-looking furniture. Soon they were turning up a narrow flight of stairs almost invisible in the dim lighting. On the second floor: a left, a right,
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A hopped up, halfway sober, slick-haired man dished out cards to everyone around the table. He looked more hungover than a bell knocked sideways. Strong brow, a bathrobe, and a gold chain resting on a thick chest full of hair. Smoke exiting parted lips for half a second before disappearing back into them: a ghost
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The breath of life. People were everywhere. Music swimming through the air. Timeless. Shouting from the rafters, falling off the chandeliers, lulling down the stairwells, echoing from rooms unseen: the music and the people as one. A melody of the masses that made the moment more than mere mania. Mortality with a twist. There was
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When he opened his eyes, he was looking at a seat across from his own. Quilted leather. Mahogany. The interior of the vehicle was more like a carriage than a car, lampstands glowing softly from the corners. A small screen blocked him from the front of the vehicle: tempered glass. He looked out the window
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Do you remember life before the internet? If a child makes a far-out faith look simple, Seeing the visions of a world unseen, Looking at the world with wonder and clairvoyance, Knowing of a world yet to come and yet unknown, Can they see the pains of aching adulthood, Or grasp the depths of hearts
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The Spirits of the Sea As the wind blows, As the tide swells, As the day goes, We hear the bells Of a spirit beckoning, Calling to us, Reckoning That we listen to their voices, Those of long ago. And in an instant, Hearkening as told, We live as though old In our youth, Nonetheless,
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The man and woman entered a small, old-fashioned diner at the edge of town. A shopkeeper’s bell jingled softly overhead, and the sound of traffic slowly faded as the door closed behind them. They were soaked after braving the Middle Eastern sun all morning; it was midsummer, and the heat index was rising like a
The Way Fayer 