Fiction

Corporal of Artillery

After three years, eleven months, and two days service, Corporal Fitzgerald re-enlisted for six years, collected a re-enlistment bonus and, that same afternoon, went to the bank in Oceanside and paid the balance of the note of his 1959 Chevrolet which was four years old. He had thought that would make him feel good, but…

Marvin Gardens’ Revenge

So there he perched, a poor sad slob of a young failure, Marvin Gardens, Ph.D., pondering in the deadest center of his ambiguities. Two years past, to the day, he had assessed his life from that identical spot – the large stuffed chair in his small study (not yet, then, had greyish stuffing begun to…

In Defense of Pure Sensation

a spoken & orchestrated work for 1 mass and 2 persons set: Any large city. time: After sunset toward the end of any war. action: Uncountable parties are in full swing behind uncountable broken windows. Uncountable people turnon, drink, fornicate, vomit, laugh, whisper, shout and piss where they stand or sit or recline. Above the…

The Rejection

1. Y. Norman Ludosky had never stirred beyond the confines of the City. He had attended private elementary schools, the university, finally graduate school. All predicted a brilliant future for a singular and original student. He immediately secured a post on the leading intellectual magazine and speedily advanced from book review department to role of…

Silent Letters

A. There was a man, Agur, toward the end of Proverbs. He wasn't a very important man. Maybe he was a failed prophet, these things happen. He wasn't very bright – a mesomorph, chunky and tough, not cut out to be a prophet at all, not good with signs, a stumbler, no king. As though…

Alternative Crumb

a play in two acts (Note: each act should take five minutes to perform, with exaggerated silences between speeches: during that time son and father age from a respective five and thirty to twenty and forty-five. Their activities on stage will therefore change appropriately.) ACT I FATHER (somberly): I am giving you the ball, son,…

Because My Love is There

Doyle's reflection scintillated wetly from the shop windows as he passed along the Boulevard du Montparnasse without pausing, as he frequently did, in front of one of Hemingway's old haunts – the Coupole or, across the street, the Dome. He turned right on the Boulevard Raspail and walked slowly, nearly shuffling, toward L'alliance Francaise and…

Boils Down

Some drunkards drink themselves as sober as this liar lied herself true. I lied to my parents about where I'd been. To my boss about where I was going. To my friends about my past – creating accomplishments, creating failures, denying experiences, admitting fantasties. To strangers I was one of quadruplets, an orphan, a twin,…