“What the people believe is true.”
—Nanabush, Son of the West Wind, Grandson of the Moon
I was a story I told myself.
My body required mechanical help with inputs and outputs, causes and effects—the purpose of one function needed to be fitted to the function of a higher purpose, from swerve of nerve to bend of bone, synapse to neuron across the junctions electric.
Continue reading “The Story of Jimmy Gray by Gerry Coleman”
Here we have another wonderful piece that didn’t fit the usual mold but was far too good to pass up.
Solace in a Cigarette Box by Yi Jung Chen
The smell of tobacco was always the first thing that announced his presence.
For thirty years, Zhang Jie had known her husband, Chen Cheng-po—whom friends affectionately called Mù-ki-sian—not by the heavy clatter of wooden sandals on the porch, but by the faint, earthy fragrance that lingered on his coat. He was a man who lived through light and shadow, capturing the blinding Chiayi sunlight on canvas, turning quiet avenues into vibrant, living monuments. But in the damp darkness of March 1947, the sunlight had gone out.
Continue reading ” Sunday Whatever – Solace in a Cigarette Box by Yi Jung Chen”
It has been long believed (and I think correctly) that Hamlet is the acme of roles for actors (nowadays the ladies are giving the melancholy one a go themselves). Actually that doesn’t matter much, because the character is so complicated that gender is secondary, and the shape of the production can be re-configured easily enough. Of course this is not a status of acclimation, many feel that Conan-Doyle’s Sherlock is the top of the mountain (I like Will’s Falstaff best myself)–so, far be it from me to put up too much of a fight against that idea. Yet let us go with Hamlet because I have arrived at the character I consider to be as far away from Hamlet in gravitas as Kim Jong Un is from the Nobel Peace Prize. The Anti-Hamlet. Who is no one other than James Robert Walton–better known (or unknown) as “Jim Bob” of The Waltons.
Continue reading “Week 607: Behold The Anti Hamlet”
Rasmus Dreyer eyes the edge of the macadam, screening the underbrush, the rows of apple trees, the delectable fruit that deer like to forage. It’s from the roadsides where the deer come, darting from the shadows in a shattering second, frozen by fear, leaping through the windshield onto the lap of the driver. The high beam shovels away the darkness, the road spanning over rolling hills, upstate, its post-carded portraits of redwood farmhouses, and white picket fences. Only Pleiades and Saturn provide company and those colliding black holes scientists are constantly clamoring about, making him feel small, insignificant.
Continue reading “A Courier with Morals by D. S. Stewart”
Herschel sat quietly in the corner of the cafe. There was a small pistol pressed against his chest, he could feel it there, beneath his rain coat, cold like ice against his pale flesh. His fingers were long, spindly, white. He was seventeen.
Continue reading “Ernst Vom Rath Is Dead “
The stillness of a dimly lit swimming pool. Rays of light pouring down from the garland wrapped windows above like searchlights seeking out shipwrecked sailors. The 1930s decor of women triumphantly holding blazing torches reminds her of the Nazis. Briefly gazing up at their determined faces she wonders if they ever had doubts – the stupid Nazis that is. A whiff of chlorine makes her eyes stream. She wipes them childlike with milk-white forearms.
Continue reading “Little Swimmers or Kleine Schwimmer by SJ Butler”
‘I’m sorry,’ said the waiter. ‘Do I recognise you?’
‘Shouldn’t have thought so,’ replied Robert. ‘I imagine I have the same face as any other holiday canaller, one whose week has become a search for water points and a battle with the bilge pump.’
Robert looked across to where Sylvie was staring pursed-lipped into the pub’s log burner.
‘Brave,’ continued the waiter, who judging by the empty tables surrounding them was not overworked. ‘Navigating the Llangollen in January.’
Continue reading “The Navvy’s Bargain by Matthew J. Richardson”
“Why is he still breathing?” The oddly familiar male voice, cuts through the fog of my mind.
“I’m sorry Sir.” A softer female voice replies.
“Do you know how many laws we’re breaking with me being here while he is still breathing?”
“Yes Sir. But—”
“No buts. This is never supposed to happen. Do you know who I am?”
“Of course, Sir. Mr Carmichael.”
Continue reading “Seeing Double by Ross Dyter”
In an amazingly short amount of time Christopher J Ananias has produced over twenty pieces of top fiction for the site. And, in my humble opinion, though all are top shelf, none rate higher than The Footnotes.
Continue reading “Literally Rerun – The Footnotes by Christopher J Ananias”
Week 606
Another week has gone by. And another week has to be looked at.
And here I am with another pile of pish to annoy you with!!!
My inspiration this week, has been a couple of newspaper stories.
But before we start I’d like to share this.
Again, comments between us made me remember this!! Shit!! Now that I think on it, I better explain – We were discussing Catholicism!!!
Connolly is a total and utter genus!!
I read this week that ‘Hotel California’ was voted the greatest driving song ever. I think that’s a brilliant song, but I beg to differ.
There was also ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ – Brilliant, but not the best ‘Queen’ song and ‘Radar Love’ by ‘Golden Earing’…Maybe a contender???
Probably any ZZTop song or one of my favourites, ‘’The Quo’ could be there…Maybe even ‘Cheap Trick’ or ‘Whitesnake’???
Continue reading “Week 606 – ‘A’ Level Guilt, Whit A Voice And Tombstone Was His Best!”
