Ravenna DiPatri was a stately frau with the luscious tresses of a baroness, moving quietly through the house like a Victorian whisper. In the noonday, she leaned in the parlor reading alone. Her awareness would pique at a certain time of day when the brass doorknob would fidget. She could sense the antsy twist of the knob in its socket or the telltale awkward thumping of elbows on the door and ascertain that it was not at all Alan, but instead her brave little Squanto overeager to get inside. Continue reading “Skidbreak”→
We nocturnals live in a deeper world than most, an imaginarium we reveal to few during the daylight, a hidden stream lived out in private moments. So in that spirit, here’s a recent hit from my soul-stash to yours to tide you over until I publish my forthcoming article on the swelling male crisis in the West. Dreams enliven us, and on this potluck of bachelorhood crotchets I’ll probably publish these as they come to me. Continue reading “Dreamflash #1”→
A few weeks ago I spent the night saying goodbye to Cooper, our family’s 13-year-old golden retriever. That moment when your privately spiritual father asks you if Torah says anything about animals having souls…
Indirectly it does.
Author’s note: I will be changing character names from familiar likenesses. This snippet is part of Fringe Blue, a writing project that I shelved to become a better reader. It will be drastically revised in time, as I’m in the process of harmonizing it with its sequel “Axis Mundi.” Fringe Blue is Copyright Protected, # TXu001848759 / 2013-03-20. All rights reserved.
Det. Johnny Lasko was still on the same street corner, sublimely unaware of how much time had passed since intoning the Call of Jerusalem. Stone City at ground level gave scant indication of time, as millions of termites beneath a furrowed redwood had no use for a sundial. He thought to check his watch, but wanted to keep the afterglow of such a moment for as long as possible. He relaxed his arms and stood in front of the white booth, patiently waiting his turn.
For most Americans, this date is a milestone in self-reflection and picking up pieces, a flag in the sand for how we react to tragedy shortly after something loud and terrible blindsides us. And for most of us, it is simply the day after the worst attack on American soil.
Yet millennia ago, East and West clashed bitterly on the 12th of September, 490 BCE in the field of Marathon north of Athens. And the battle that ensued was a meteoric victory for the Western World, which Persian despots were threatening to snuff in its very cradle.
n which a lifelong insomniac, artist, and breakthrough junkie launches a public thought-lab at the behest of several friends. History will be recovered. Food critiqued. Books reviewed. Art created. Stories told. Ideas written. Guns fired. Photos taken. Futures pondered. Sumer rebuilt. Athens revived. Jerusalem transfigured. England saved. Videos shot. Pods cast.
“The legend of the Wandering Jew.” The Jew flees the cross and spends, this is no legend, all of time wandering, wondering, not daring to consider that he might have been wrong about the man called Yeshua.