the wordy man

when i was just a little firk my mama took me to see the wordy man he hung out on the street outside the gypsy’s place where mama went to have her fortune told every other wednesday the wordy man was talking up a storm it was what he did i had a hard time understanding him but my mama said that was all right nothing anybody said made any sense any more which was why humans had mostly stopped talking except to order takeout and have their fortunes told we went inside but the gypsy wasn’t there instead there was a werewolf packing the gypsy’s things into a trunk lined with red velvet what happened to the gypsy? my mama asked the werewolf it’s a long story, the werewolf replied not worth repeating we went back outside the werewolf had the gypsy’s trunk on his shoulder and me, my mama, the werewolf and the wordy man all went down the street to mcdonalds and we all ordered strawberry smoothies because we thought the gypsy might drop by but she never did not then, or ever the wordy man kept talking the whole time but i never did figure out what he was saying

prelude to an interruption, part 2

somewhere, somebody was singing a song. the song made me weak in the knees. the waiter stared at my knees, noticing their weakness. “sometimes, “i told him, “when i wake up in the dead of night, i wonder why the grass isn’t always green, and why the sky isn’t always blue.” the waiter looked at me funny, like i was some kind of nut. j j was looking at me too, out of the corner of her nasty eye, like she was about to say something really nasty, even for her. someday there would be a definite end to her pretensions. she will wake up in the dead of night, and they will be there… the demons who were born just for her… but that is enough about j j… the waiter laughed, a deep mournful laugh that seemed to come from the depths of forgotten aeons… “you don’t want advice from me, miss… as you see, i am only a servant. only a servant .” “for now,” he added ominously. i realized there was still plenty of time to escape. but i just lay there like a slug, waiting… yes we all had plenty of time to escape… but escape to where? suddenly there was some sort of commotion out on the lawn… and about time, too… nobody ever notices such things until they happen. “don’t tell me the police are here,” betsy drawled languidly. “please don’t tell me the police are here.” and indeed, some men in dark suits and immaculate white shirts had appeared on the lawn. they made straight for florian, who was still singing his song to the supine and comatose partygoers. often when i wake up in the dead of night, i can see them striding purposefully across the green lawn… on the lazy, rainy summer afternoon… i felt weak i wished that i, too, was wearing a dark suit and an immaculate white shirt. and that i was the commander of a vast shadowy army. but nobody ever asked for my advice. i was a wicked and abandoned child. and i had plenty of time to escape. even from the commanders of vast shadowy armies. suddenly florian stopped singing his song. the silence was total, even though it was a lazy summer afternoon and not the dead of night. “i don’t know what to say.” “did you hear something?” hadrian suddenly asked. “i don’t hear anything,” j j told him. “but i see those men in dark suits and immaculate white shirts taking florian away.” “just because he was singing a song?” asked betsy. “that seems rather rude.” “it rather shows weakness on the part of the authorities.” said hadrian. “if you ask me.” we - adrian, hadrian, j j , betsy, and me - still had plenty of time to escape. it is easy to notice such things afterwards. long ago, on a lazy summer afternoon. sources: jane eyre , by charlotte bronte; wuthering heights, by emily bronte; alice’s adventures in wonderland, by lewis carroll; the three impostors, by arthur machen; swann’s way, by marcel proust; the counterfeiters, by andre gide; chivalry, by rafael sabatinni; 1984, by george orwell; vengeance is mine, by mickey spillane; one lonely night, by mickey spillane; on the road, by jack kerouac; the bell jar, by sylvia plath.

prelude to an interruption, part 1

it all began years ago on a lazy summer afternoon. we were the most beautiful children of the most beautiful parents. the parents who were all still passed out, on the lawns and around the swimming pools and tennis courts and in the upstairs bedrooms, after the celebration of the inauguration of the new… president, or king, or whatever he called himself… we children had nothing but contempt for politics, as we had for all the activities of our elders. it was dorian who finally broke the ennui of the day. he got up and said, “i am leaving.” nobody objected, so off he went. that left florian, adrian, hadrian, j j, betsy, and me. after that, we just lay around in our usual stupor until florian said something. florian was the chatty cathy of the gang. unlike the rest of us, he never went a whole day without saying something. “i think we are showing great weakness,” florian said, but nobody answered. “but you don’t want advice from me,” he continued, and got up and went outside. he did not understand friendship quite in the same way we did. i, myself, was the most wicked and abandoned child of the lot. i saw florian outside, walking around the passed out bodies on the lawn. “let me sing a song to comfort you,” he sang. florian liked to sing. and dance, too, he was a very energetic boy. he was always trying to get people to understand him. and to understand themselves, whatever that meant. he made it too interesting to pass up. at least he tried. suddenly one of the old ladies lying on the lawn reached out and grabbed his ankle and he fell on top of her. still singing his song. after that i stopped watching, because we are all victims. victims in the rainy afternoon, because just then it started to rain. i’m a victim, you are a victim, we are all victims. adrian was the commander of a vast shadowy army. some day there would be a definite end to his pretensions. because, after all, what are friends for? in our dark suits and immaculate white shirts. just kidding. but i was the most wicked and abandoned child. in my dark glasses and immaculate white undies. nobody ever really notices anything. if they did, there would definitely be an end to all this nonsense. a servant arrived, with an interesting tray of drinks and hors-d’oeuvres. he looked like a victim, like he had seen and done things too terrible to describe. like he did not understand friendship and loyalty in quite the same way as people like us. even wicked creatures like myself and the gang. he was the commander of a vast army of lost souls. but he didn’t want advice from me. sources: jane eyre, by charlotte bronte; wuthering heights, by emily bronte; alice’s adventures in wonderland, by lewis carroll; the turn of the screw, by henry james; the counterfeiters, by andre gide; chivalry, by rafael sabatinni; 1984, by george orwell; vengeance is mine, by mickey spillane; one lonely night, by mickey spillane; on the road, by jack kerouac; the bell jar, by sylvia plath.

edge of the campfire

she had never felt so desperate and alone she remembered all her sisters singing songs when she was not there the hunters were gathering in the forest “375 degrees gets the perfect crispness you want” because nobody really knows what is going on this was excitement such as he had only dreamed of but he felt travis’s cold eyes on him when he should have been thinking of josie i am sorry, i can not continue especially in my present lofty position which i have achiieved through my own hard work i always stood up for the little guy ask anybody who knows the score they are out there, waiting do you see smiles on their faces? neither did the little guys who only wanted little girls to call their own a man does not rise to the occasion when the futility and sorrow wash over him to him she was always a woman make no mistake, my friend nobody knows the score when they get to the top of the stairs and they come face to face with the man who tells you it just can’t go on because we can dream, can’t we? sources: the tenement kid, by karl edd; this kill is mine, by dean evans; say it with bullets, by richard powell; mistress of horror house, by william woody; drink with the dead, by j m flynn; run from the hunter, by keith grantland; operation - murder, by lionel white; the teachers, by jerry weil; man divided, by dean douglas; cry at dusk, by lester dent; about doctor ferrel, by day keene; search for surrender, by borden deal; woman soldier, by arnold rodin

the top of the stairs

he felt the same deep thrill of excitement that he had felt on that distant november day he stopped at the top of the stairs what’s going on out there? to him she was still a woman this was something that couldn’t go on he waited at the top of the stairs “if i turn around and go back, no one will ever know” the hunters would be coming soon enough i wasn’t even there but i felt the same deep thrill of excitement but i wished i was there to him she was still a woman even though she was not at the top of the stairs eternal mysterious woman letting the futility and the sorrow wash over her although she wasn’t even there my mind was dwelling on girls so there wouldn’t be any mistakes he was as cold and mean as they come to the little guys who were caught in the net no, there wouldn’t be any mistakes a man does not rise to the occasion the hunters would be coming soon enough the futility and the sorrow were washed away in the rain who’s sorry now? we all make mistakes sources: the tenement kid, by karl edd; this kill is mine, by dean evans; say it with bullets, by richard powell; mistress of horror house, by william woody; drink with the dead, by j m flynn; run from the hunter, by keith grantland; operation - murder, by lionel white; the teachers, by jerry weil; man divided, by dean douglas; cry at dusk, by lester dent; about doctor ferrel, by day keene; search for surrender, by borden deal; woman soldier, by arnold rodin

harley and delilah, part 2

she just had to see for herself when she wished to transfer u s 21.4m i await your reply with all due confidence enough with the warnings, please i am a creature of dreams but i need assistance in this dimension as dreamers often do for i am only a girl who has been warned repeatedly “if you could look into my heart, you might be surprised” i will try to be careful “you are a strange creature - but fascinating!” harley had seen and done terrible things things burned into his brain with serpentine lasers he did not want to hurt delilah harley was just a boy his dossier is available through the proper channels the other side has used similar messages in the past he has never expressed remorse for the terrible things he has done delilah was just a girl but harley, being just a boy, was strangely enchanted delilah just had to see for herself that harley was a boy because she was only a girl be careful they will go to any length to obtain personal information i need assistance

the waitress, version one

version 1 of over 20,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000

illustrated by konrad kraus

bill was a bad guy. janet was a slut. bill and janet had 18 children. they lived with bill’s mom. bill had a big nose. janet had the weight of the world on her shoulders. lucy was bill and janet’s oldest child. dave was a serial killer. amanda was the spirit of love in a hate-filled world. dave thought amanda was a terrorist. moe was amanda’s long lost child moe was an easygoing sort. mickey was moe’s best friend. bill and dave were on the same bowling team. dave thought janet had fucked bill up big time. dave and amanda agreed to compare notes. tony was a retired delicatessen owner. carla was the mayor’s wife. dave ordered a soft roll and a glass of water. amanda ordered a whole chocolate cake. the waitress’s name was millie. she thought amanda was pushy. tony thought millie should pick up the pace. carla was bored. suddenly it started to rain. millie took a deep breath. meanwhile janet was packing her suitcase. and lucy was planning a vacation. aaron was just a guy. unknown to aaron, tony was ready to turn state’s evidence. unknown to amanda, her mother was a trained deadly assassin. dave was wearing underwear with little cupids on it. outside on the sidewalk a few raindrops began to fall. amanda was wearing a pained expression. millie suddenly remembered life was sad. carla was thinking about the creepy guy in the garage last night. tony was thinking about retiring and moving to arizona. moe was ready to turn his life around. when his order arrived, dave smiled at millie. when her order arrived, amanda realized she wasn’t getting any younger. suddenly tony felt dave looking at him. returning to the kitchen, millie ate a bread stick. roy, the cook, was a yankee fan. nancy, the other waitress, was her own woman. behind the restaurant, time went by. walter entered the restaurant, carrying a battered brown briefcase. walter was desperate. millie did not recognize walter. walter ordered two hot dogs, well done, and cole slaw. walter said it was a nice day. dave turned around and nodded to walter. amanda thought, what goes around, comes around.

twilight in the spice empire

illustrations by eddie el greco

an apology is a miserable vindication of innocence. pushing the hobos aside, cathcart continued sipping his coffee, lost and dreaming in the heart of england. he remembered the occupants of the club car laughing at him. he would show them. the universe is a dream. debbie kept an eye on the mailman and the pizza delivery man. she had nothing to apologize for. cathcart’s high technical merit never ceased to excite admiration. especially from the lower classes, who loved the empire. don’t be uneasy, cathy told debbie as she leaned out the window, depend upon future caution. the shades were drawn in the back bedroom. poor dears, prettiness won’t last long. cathy and debbie had been the two prettiest girls at sunnyvale high, on the other side of the galaxy. alice, the class clown, hardly recognized them when they came into the pizza parlor. the denizens of mickey’s pizza were a fine class of people. they had dined on cruise ships with kings and queens in their time. they had been stunned, however, by the technical virtuosity of cathcart when he held up the pizza parlor. cathy went back into the bedroom and lit up. her destiny was not the least honorable, ever since jimmy had skipped town. cathcart continued down the street, pushing aside all who got in his way, still slurping the coffee he had coolly appropriated for himself during the holdup. debbie decided to take a chance on rendering an immense service to lieutenant miller, the cop who had busted her the other night. she had apologized but he had just laughed in her face. cathy still thought there was something familiar about the mailman, and the delivery man, who had been so conveniently in the way when cathcart made his getaway. alice began to laugh uncontrollably, remembering the good old days. lost and dreaming, on the streets of knoxville tennessee. cathy lay down on the bed and fell asleep, dreaming of england. the crew of young bold stout and well-armed villains strutted down the street. heading straight for the mailman. cathcart’s destiny had not always been so honorable. he went wrong after being ridiculed on that fateful morning by foster in front of the whole class. he decided then and there to betray his upbringing and become a spiv. all this of course, was before he met jessie. reaching the wide boulevard, he tossed the empty coffee cup in the street. a trio of desperate young villains, wielding stout sticks, approached from the opposite curb. “look at this guy,” maxie laughed. “watch where yer going, mate,” billy cautioned cathcart. it all happened so fast marcia hardly knew what happened. one minute cathcart was strutting purposefully along after tossing his coffee cup aside, and the next minute the three young ruffians were pummeling him mercilessly. all cathcart’s advanced technical knowledge proved worthless in this crisis. mister ferris, the chemistry professor, always thought cathcart showed genuine promise. but england is not what it was - neither are portugal or russia, for that matter. ah, destiny, destiny! “at last, sir, you give me liberty to speak - when it may be too late!” cathy had fallen asleep in the back bedroom. debbie was sick of covering for her. she decided to write a note and leave it beside the bed before going out in the street to conquer the world. the people in the world deserve better. cathy thought she was so innocent - ha! poor dears, prettiness won’t last long. debbie took one last look around the apartment. her future depended in equal measure on caution and boldness. she still had her good looks. destiny spread before her like coffee and doughnuts. she closed the door behind her. as she went down the stairs, she heard shouting in the street outside. sources: clarissa, by samuel richardson; amelia, by henry fielding; eugenie grandet, by honore de balzac; vanity fair, by w m thackeray; madame bovary, by gustave flaubert; anna karenima, by leo tolstoy; diana of the crossways, by george meredith; tess of the d’urbevilles, by thomas hardy; portrait of a lady, by henry james; ann veronica, by h g wells; the old wives’ tale, by arnold bennett; main street, by sinclair lewis; when she was good, by philip roth