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Week 581- Have You Never Been Melodramatic

I am not a cynical luddite, but I believe everyone ought to have a little oldfashionedness in her for the sake of maintaining a soul. Still, progress isn’t completely evil. It brings more good than bad in medicine (at least it does when you compare modern TB and smallpox statistics to the way things were a hundred years ago). But I’m also convinced that as an animal, one whose evolution is influenced by long-term realities, we are not wholly prepared to accept sudden changes. Moreover, being small we are overwhelmed by reasons to feel worthless and dumb; and when it becomes clear that a ten-year-old can do more with our phones than we can, let’s just say it is not good for the self esteem. (Then again I can drive a stick and parallel park without an AI, so there you little Weaselings!)

For at least 99% of human history we lived the same way. It was hard to win a living from the soil and when we managed to light a fire with rocks and damp kindling and somehow outlasted another winter we felt like whatever the word for rock star was way back in the Middle Ages.

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All Stories, sunday whatever

Sunday Whatever – A True Tale of Stories Literally by Dale Wiliams Barrigar

“No one has ever written, painted, sculpted, modeled, built, or invented except literally to get out of hell.”

– Antonin Artaud, Van Gogh, the Man Suicided by Society

“We are all of us alone.” – Harold Bloom

“As long as I’m learning something, I figure I’m OK.”

– Hunter S. Thompson

            “Stan, don’t let them tell you what to do!” – Harold Pinter

            “NO EASY WAY TO BE FREE.” – The Who, “Slip Kid”

Warning to the Reader: The following essay will sometimes appear to jump and leap from thing to thing with no apparent reason. As in life, there is a reason, even if it isn’t apparent. While under the influence, the author believes this discontinuous form is a part of the modern condition. Thank you. – D.W.B.

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All Stories, Short Fiction

Godfather JoJo By Hugh Cron (Adult Content)

Gregor hesitated at the door of ‘Till Dawn Night-Club’. He took a deep breath and walked in. Two rather large gentleman walked over to him.

“Don’t think you should be here pal! We’re fucking shut.”

One stood in front of him and the other guy moved slightly to his side.

He took a deep breath, “I know. I’m not here for any trouble, I was just wanting to speak to JoJo.”

“Is he expecting you?”

Gregor looked round at the other man.

“No…”

‘Well fuck off then!!’

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All Stories, Editor Picks, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Week 573: An Elegy For a Friend and the A to Z of Adjectival Slight

A friend from my youth died recently. His name was Kim. We were close through our twenties until he moved to Japan (due to marriage). The only contact we had for decades was the occasional Facebook “happy birthday like” (I fell out of using Facebook fairly quickly; too many ads and idiots, but the premise is a good one). I considered writing letters, which I (without modesty) am pretty good at writing. Maybe I should have–but to paraphrase James Taylor “I didn’t know where to send them to.”

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Editor Picks, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Week 571: Andy Fought the Law, and, Well, Andy Won

Andy

Since late 2017 I have been feeding a Feral Cat named Andy Hisster (his image above, circa 2019). Simple math tells me that Andy, full-sized upon my meeting him, must be close to ten years old, which is a good age for a housecat and flat out Methuselah for a wild boy. And make no mistake, Andy is a wild wild wild one.

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All Stories, sunday whatever

Sunday Whatever – No Mean Mercy by Geraint Jonathan

Take this down, Brother Slycup.

Beggars can be choosers. The procedure is very simple. Apply to the skin a generous layer of fatty soap, sprinkle with vinegar, wait a minute or two, and, tantara: there it is – as any mirror to hand will confirm: your face is a veritable mass of yellow pustules. Then all you need do is develop a graveyard wheeze, adopt a drool, take up trembling, swivel the ol’ eye and speak a little bedlamese. Trust me, hearts will move, stones’ll weep.

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Editor Picks, Latest News, Short Fiction

569: More Grammar Gripes

Every year or so I feel obliged to make a statement on behalf of proper grammar in the English language. Before the tongue is finally killed and left to rot in the Pop Culture Wood, I feel that it is the duty of writers long acquainted with the written word to get in a few shots at the would-be murderers. The killers of language are the Usual Suspects, namely the Selfish and Lazy (from here, “Sal”).

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, Short Fiction, Writing

Stuart by Hugh Cron – Adult Content.

Stuart died in prison.

That is wrong,

Stuart was killed in prison. He was stabbed with a blade between his ribs.

None of these sharpened toothbrushes or pieces of wood or shards of glass, an actual knife. The investigation is ongoing. Some poor dweeb will probably lose their pension over that.

Did Stuart deserve to be murdered? Opinions vary. Some would say he was a bad guy, others would say he did what he did to survive. I suppose it depends on their involvement with him.

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All Stories, General Fiction, sunday whatever

Sunday Whatever – Him Her Them Us by Victor Kreuiter

As regular visitors will know, we sometimes receive submissions that don’t fit into the usual scheme of things but we want to publish because of the quality of the writing, or the message, or sometimes something special about the author. This is one of those. We thought this deserved a moment in the sun:

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