If your imagination were a stronghold, this is a story about all of the bad things trying to break in and take it over.
May I present my horror novella: Terms and Conditions.
Download the audio from Bandcamp:
Find out what happens when an artist accidentally sells his inspiration to the devil.
Continue reading Terms and Conditions (A Horror Novella)
Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking
By Susan Cain
We prop up extraverts as shining examples of what to aspire to. We know more about celebrities’ than we do our own families. We let the TV vet the faces and voices we allow into our homes. When the medium is the message Tony Robbins and Mohandas Gandhi are on equal footing. Continue reading Book Recommendation: Quiet, The Power of Introverts
A spoken word piece on Inspiration… personified as a bipolar ex girlfriend.
Alright, I’m lying. I don’t own a car. He was bound and gagged in a dumpster, hidden beneath a layer of unsold bagels.
When it came time for me to read, a poem named Kick A Dog was what called out from my archives. It went over well, despite the fact that everyone seemed to think that I was talking about literally kicking a dog. I mean, come on, it’s a pretty thinly veiled metaphor.
Guess who just got himself a fancy schmancy new microphone? Guess who has been listening to audiobooks all month and said to himself, “I can do that.” Guess whose neighbors are tired of hearing him recite the same piece over and over again? Guess whose pets are staring at him in bewilderment? If you guessed me than your deductive reasoning skills are still working and you can check dementia off the list of possible neurological ailments you may be living with. Continue reading Guess Who Got Himself a Microphone?
The first came from a visitor to my (long since abandon) website God Hates Globes. The site was meant to be a satirical spoof on a website with a similar name. The visitor didn’t get the joke and gave us some spirited feedback. He was convinced that we believed the world was flat (and that Jonathan Swift actually wanted to eat babies). He wanted to rid the country of us close minded superstitious yokels. That time it was funny.
My quarry shambles off the bus. His lanky frame is lost inside a long black coat. He adjusts his head cans, then buries his hands in his pockets. He nods to the beat. His feet stride with the rhythm. There’s a lovestruck couple up ahead of him. They take up both lanes of the sidewalk. He mounts the boulevard and breezes past. He doesn’t see the pedestrians for the people. The scope of his vision narrows to the crosswalk. He doesn’t bother to look both ways. He doesn’t see the traffic for the cars. Continue reading Bulletproof Cupid
The volume went up as the Guest of Honor stepped into the party. Then the lights went down. Scarves found their way to the banisters. Layers found their way to the floor. Buttons were undone. Belts were unbuckled. The Guest of Honor peered into the coat room. His was the coat that made the pile spill to the floor.
When he ambled down the hall, heads peered up. People watched from their blind spots. Arms uncrossed. Footing shift. The guests repositioned themselves to stand full front to him. Their guards went down. Heads began to nod. Eyes began tracking movement. The guests started to promenade from social click to social click. Everybody was open for business.