Huh?
Welcome to the inside of my mind. Sorry for the clutter. While in the realm of nonfiction, let me just say memory is a lousy filer. To the best of my recollections the following actually happened. Hopefully none of it will hold up in court, being hearsay from an unreliable witness.
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Howl for the Banned
There are some riled up folk putting stories under attack. Those fearful of ideas, with their twisty troll logic, only draw more attention to the very stories they’re trying to ban. More effective than glowing reviews! If a book’s been forbidden, that is the book I seek. But then I don’t outsource my thinking. I
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The Art of the Sleep
Somewhere around the 4th decade, slumber & I became estranged. Up until then I was sleep’s patsy. I took after my father, a man who could drift off despite the quarts of coffee he downed. Just shy of narcolepsy, he & I were known to fall asleep if sitting still. On long drives to campgrounds,
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Curiouser & Curiouser
Curiosity was what spurred me to commit certain illegal acts of my youth, for which I am unrepentant. Sure there might be a different hobby I could’ve taken up, but mine was essentially harmless snooping. Except that time when a friend & I graffitied the top several floors of the Westin hotel stairwells with anarchist
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Do Androgynes Dream of Electrocuting Creeps?
The Leed’s Apartments got a facelift. It was still the same crappy roach-infested old building as before, just with a shmancy new awning over the entrance, stating the new name: Chateau Margeaux. This was my sister Du’s first apartment after she moved out of her boyfriend’s place. Also, it was where I came to visit…&
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Come Into My Parlor
The squatter & I were in a standoff. She had made herself at home in the corner, 1 foot from the pillows at the head of my bed. I was fairly certain she was the one who had run across my face at 4 a.m. a few nights ago. Coffee is not nearly as jolting,
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Sympathy for the Kraken
It’s no revelation that someone who can’t swim & has ‘the hydrophoby’ (couldn’t resist the reference to rabies from movies like Old Yeller) might not muse rhapsodically on water. Though I don’t recall my early bath times, my family likes to tell the story of toddler-me running naked through the house yelling “Betta hide!” when
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Huh? 