“Isn’t this all a bit – I don’t know – American?”
It was the only description I could think of that fully captured my distaste. I sat in the kitchen with my arms crossed, looking up at where Jack, my husband, and William, his publicist, were standing on the other side of the kitchen island; the low-hanging light above us illuminated their faces as they watched my every reaction.
For history and legend sakes, certain attributes, character traits if you will, have to be appointed here at the beginning of This old house (B. 1742), home for more than half a century of my life, and This old room, dressed with computer by me for the last 28 years. Yet I swear thick-cut Edgeworth pipe tobacco bears its welcome as strong as my grandfather’s creaking chair, diminutive Johnny Igoe’s chair. This most memorable compartment was also his room for 20 years of literate cheer, storied good will, the pleasantries of expansive noun and excitable verb, and his ever-lingering poems, each one a repeated resonance, a victory of sound and meaning and the magic of words. Yet be of stout spirit, for the chair mocks time only in the clutch of darkness thick as the eternal void, and the tobacco’s no longer threatening in its gulp.
Continue reading “Who Knows Who Lived in My House, Built in 1742, or Your House by Tom Sheehan”
Are you taping this?
Figures.
Defend him?
Do you know what it’s like to raise a monster? No, no, you don’t. I see you looking at me like I’m trash. I see it, missy.
Did he kill all those girls?
Well, I’ll get to that.
Continue reading “How to Raise a Monster by L’Erin Ogle – warning some explicit content.”
Well Leila Allison has been rooting around in the stacks again and has brought us this. A super story by one of our founders, and this is what she said:
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – The Valley of the Shadow of Death by Tobias Haglund”
Before I start writing nonsense and swearing and being nasty and things, I would like to let you all know that our lovely Diane is celebrating her 50th Wedding Anniversary this weekend.
I find it a bit strange to think that one of my best friends is a net friend and they were getting married when I was celebrating my first birthday. This medium has its plus points.
To Mr and Mrs Dickson and all their family, I hope that they have a wonderful time this weekend.
Continue reading “Week 196 – A Lady-Part, A Nipple End And A Happy Anniversary!!”
The day she left me, she left the fish. The gloopy, dead-brained goldfish sitting in our room. My room now, fuck her. I don’t miss her. She used to ask her if I missed her when she went away in the summer- not really I’d say, she’d come back in three weeks. That made her cry. Why do people cry when you tell the truth?
A friend of mine for many years, Eric Peavy, lived on the third floor of a tenement house right near the center of the town square graced by a circular green holding two huge elm trees with grand columns and huge umbrella limbs that spread for the season at hand. He was apt to break into an on-going conversation with a connecting remark based on his third–floor view of the square and what had come into his mind.
Aeryn Baker climbed into the back of his limousine and read the letter from his late husband, Van Philip Harris, for perhaps the hundredth time.
Dearest Mother and Beloved Husband,
You each have been a comfort and loving support to me in your unique ways, though the feud between you has been a source of consternation to me. It is my earnest wish that the two of you find a deeper understanding of one another. Toward that end, I wish the two of you to spend an evening together on my yacht, the Floating Edge. Should either party decline to participate, the declining party shall be awarded the sum of one dollar. The remainder of their inheritance shall be forfeit.
I remember leading a rather ordinary life until the day I committed suicide. As I recall, that took place in late October in the year 1838. I don’t remember the actual death itself, but I know it happened because it was forty-eight Earth years before I was granted another physical body. I had never had to wait that long before. Not to mention the fact that my guardian angel, Thaddeus, had warned me many times not to make that mistake because it was one of the things the God’s frowned upon the most.
A few nights ago, Jim identified the great, distant sun Naazar in the autumnal sky, and then attempted to sell me tales of its splendor and glory. This had caused an old memory to trip my inner As If Alarm. Some claim my inner As If Alarm underscores the ever-suspicious side of my personality; all things considered, I find it a useful and necessary device.
Continue reading “The Customer is Never Right by Leila Allison”
literally stories 