Dante and Beatrice Portinari. View this.
Unless it's a balding fellow.
Where are my notes?
Lemme try writing sans notes.
Off it goes to an online religious mag.
You must, sez I, submit it to The Compass.
GONE by Beatriz Moisset
Farewell, Sweet One,
Cancer took your mother
away from you
when you were merely twelve.
Now cancer is back
taking you away
from your children
may your luminous smile
never dim in our hearts.
B's oncologist keeps finding new meds to keep her alive.
She's already working on her next romance tentatively called ELI AND THE CALIFORNIA GIRL.
Being sick, said Marf, helps her write. She is often visited by her late parents, Eunice and Elmer.
For some reason, Marf thought her story was boring, but we disagreed with her. "Good social and political statements," said Allan, thoughtfully.
I told my friend Marcy from the lowlands of California that I wanted to write a story called Poppy. Did massive research on it, but it's awfully tuff to write, so I never got a round tuit.
Woke up quite late this morning. Had my usual delicious two-egg omelet. Scott said I can eat as many eggs as I want unlike Joel Fuhrman, who's a strict vegetarian.
Wrote this poem-a-day for FB. So far, no one's liked it. C'mon college chum Iris, where art thou?
OH, THE HORROR OF IT
Carl Jung: The wickedness of others
becomes our own wickedness...
it kindles something evil
in our own hearts.
Behind Closed Doors is a
library book I read at
night. Chilling, it is. But
reviewers describe the
ending as "grisly."
We know the woman will triumph
over her captor, a handsome
sociopath from the lineage of
John Wayne Gacy.
As always, the book drops on
my chest as I fall asleep but
then this author dreams up
scenarios worse than the book's
My eyes blink open in fright
but the dream's not through with me yet
more horrors, more inner screams
more fears of torture and of death
Quickly, quickly, I tell myself
when morning comes. Finish the
damn book and get your life back.
I'm not all that evil, only hidden
spots like on the Dalmatian.
It's her debut novel.
For three weeks, every since I left "the kids" house in Glenside, I've wanted to write the short story DISAPPEARANCE.
As I passed by a house on the left of the street, the address looked like GOD. So that's what my story is about.
Two obnoxious young football players drive up in a Dodge Challenger - amazing how it's the same car as my across-the-street neighbors - and strike up a conversation with God.
Am gonna submit it a lit mag soon.
The next story was one I had halfway completed. Called THE SECURITY GUARD it had a lot of surprises in it.
Any more photos?
Now it's spreading across the lamp post garden.
Go ahead and eat now! I am starving!