The scent of overpriced coffee was like the armpit of God.
This story is about the eschatology of shadow puppets.
A man with no memory is interesting, while a man with sad memories can’t be buried fast enough.
Were like plaque in the arteries of the imagination, they clogged the sense of what was possible. Maybe
Any idea what started it? No obvious point of origin, but Perry Horne will be out later and he can tell us more. Joe unzipped his jacket a little way and palmed sweat from his throat. I don’t need a f...
Before. Yes, before, I sailed my little boat on a placid sea of ignorance. Was I blissful? Oh my, yes. Before the truth floated like jetsam towards me, fouling my rudder . . .
Wilderness remained a place of evil and spiritual catharsis. Any place in which a person feels stripped, lost, or perplexed, might be called a wilderness.
Somewhere in our early teen years it’s inevitable that our parents become sources of great embarrassment to us, held accountable for everything they are and aren’t, could’ve been or should never be. B...
Every day someone out there comes to the end of his tether, decides he can't carry on any more, and starts looking for a really good method to end it all. How do you do it? Let me count the ways.
He had worked to save those men, though it had been hopeless work. Mankind had acquired an appetite for dying; doctors had become shepherds to the process.
Her name was Flower, oddly imprecise for one so much herself, as though her parents had wrestled with names like Daisy, Violet, and Rose, lost their way amid so many choices, and settled for this gene...
In the distance, over the cusp of the planets, a primordial paused, its mammoth body shimmering itself into perception. As I watched it, a dreadful certainty gripped me: this was how Gramps was trappe...
His new stepsister, Darcy, stood in the door that went down to the second floor. Her hair was black and knotted and stringy, and, no surprise, she was wearing one of her dozens of princess dresses. Th...
I also love ‘Mr. Fox’ and the advice that his bride-to-be sees carved above the door to his house: BE BOLD, BE BOLD. She goes inside, of course, and then she sees more advice: BE BOLD, BE BOLD, BUT NO...
A hatred I was going to feel anyway for men whose evil came not from some grand design, but cost-benefit analysis and spite.
We look about in puzzlement at our world, with a sense of unease and disquiet. We think of ourselves as scholars in arcane liturgies, single men trapped in worlds beyond our devising. The truth is far...
I hated and loved him in turns, as witches will do, for our hearts are strange and inexplicable.
I should know better than to try and measure the breadth and depth of love by its noise and dramas but there are times that I crave it, as if it’s proof that love is alive.
I subscribe to the tea-kettle theory of art, she’d responded. Open the valve and the energy escapes.
I was taught that the villagers and the slum dwellers were like animals, she said. It was the responsibility of people of the educated classes to see to it rules were followed and order maintained. An...
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