The epiphany seized Sondheim at breakfast. The morning after he had seen, or rather dozed in part through, the Japanese movie on television. Scenes had flitted through his dreams and he was still in a vaguely Japanese mood as he descended to breakfast – or what he thought would be breakfast. There was none. To his query as to why not, his wife was dismissive. “My morning run,” she said; her white running shoes flashed briefly in the burst of sunlight before the door closed.
That’s another week in folks, they are flying by! Week 140 is now upon us.
It’s weird where I get inspiration to bore the be-Jesus out of you all. (Is that how you spell that word? And should ‘be’ not be capitalised as it is part of Jesus Our Lord and concept or should I say con??)
Continue reading “Week 140 – Double Standards, Method Acting And ‘Do You Want To See Some Puppies?’”
It was time to make peace with my mother.
Ten years, three shrinks, and a busted marriage had gone by since we last spoke. By my family’s standards that is not considered a long time not to speak to each other, but I was trying to put all the pieces together as I approached my fortieth birthday, and this was a piece that I couldn’t do without.
5:50 A.M., 21 August 2017, New Town Cemetery, Charleston, WA
“Have you met yourself in a Legend yet, darling?” Emma says. Her Spirit and that of her love, Lewis Coughland, have just gathered-to, as always, in the oak, prior to daybreak.
Continue reading “A New Book of Numbers (Part I) by Leila Allison”
I don’t think anyone could have missed the inspiration for week 139!
There was a wee bit of a stramash this week. The fight between Mayweather and McGregor was another one I didn’t see as I only have council TV.
I used to enjoy following the boxing, but now that Sky has monopolised everything I see very little. I think Sky is going to be like Skynet from ‘The Terminator’ films and it is the beginning of our end. But to be truthful, no-one will notice as they will all be watching the varied box-sets that are available. Dying in front of the TV is now more of a certainty than pneumonia!
Continue reading “Week 139 – Pugilism, Diggstown And A Vagina With Teeth.”
The garden has faces. No one has seen them except me. At night, after serving my boss and his family dinner, I sneak outside to see the Dracula orchids, the Coxcombs and Proteas. “My friends!” I bow to them. “Forgive me. Everyone is in a bad mood. I too am in negative spirits.” The Dracula callas started speaking recently. One night they told me I looked like a corpse who wept himself to death.” I went to my assigned room, looked in the mirror and watched my tears turn yellow in the lamplight.
Continue reading “Facing a Garden Full of Faces by Ashlie Allen”
Fred Furk is mowing the grass when all asudden KABOOM! Next thing he knows, he’s spread out on his back clean across the yard. Lucky Girl, his Black Lab, is licking his face, and Doris is standing over him. She’s moving her lips, but he don’t hear a thing. Then it all goes dark again.
Continue reading “The Lightning King and Lucky Girl by David Henson”
Yet again I start with our wishes going to innocents caught up in madness!
Barcelona has become another victim of a sickness we are struggling to cure or even cope with.
Continue reading “Week 138 – Peas, Classification And Funny Tasting Orange Juice.”
Daniel crawls through a mixture of mud and clothes. The pungent smell of jet fuel and acrid smoke fills and burns his nostrils. There is something else in the air. Something he tastes as he breathes: a human smell. He spits, before he continues to crawl past open suitcases and broken, twisted pieces of metal. He hears the sound of a gas issuing from somewhere, the crackle of a fire, and then a woman’s moan. He looks over his shoulder at the fuselage. He hears another moan. He stands, turns, and staggers back to the wreck.
Continue reading “Third Closest to the Sun by Thomas Wadsworth”
Eric Ward was never the same man when he put on the suit. It was a three-piece, black pinstripe with a notched lapel. A silk kerchief, deep crimson, sat Presidential in the jacket pocket with a tie to match. The Homberg on his head carried the proper tilt. He never checked the mirror. It just felt right. This was a suit for winners. A deal closer. That’s what his father would have said: a suit you wear when you want to Get Things Done.
literally stories 