To Charles Pear’s regret, Andre Dovenstock didn’t pass away. Despite the hard times, Mr. Dovenstock showed no sign of weakness or surrender, so Mr. Pear had to suppress his hope. He considered moving to another town, any place would do.Read more →
It starts in true black. Then the song comes in. It reminds me of something from The Shining. Old piano. The light fades up. A stereo plays, nineties Panasonic. A hand reaches in and turns the wrong knob.Read more →
We raised our eyes from where our children were playing in the sand and peered up through the branches of the tall pine. It was true, there was a boy shimmying along one of the tree’s narrow branches, at least twelve feet off the ground, the limb flexing under his weight. Read more →
As a ghost, you should be nimble. You should mosey, kick up your heels, do the boot-scootin’ boogie. Instead you can only float—you’re a sickly grey balloon, attached to my rapidly burning wrist. So nice of you to join me on Hapuna Beach, Dad.Read more →
I wear my Hawaiian shirt when I need to feel safe. No one can hate you when you’re wearing a Hawaiian shirt even when you’re asking them for change and they know it’s for a hit and you smell like you slept in your own puke, because you did. I only really have two shirts, mind you. The other one is denim with cut-off sleeves, which looks sharp, in my opinion, but people aren’t as friendly when I wear that one. I got the shit kicked out of me more than once when I was wearing it.
The sea. The sea. The sea exists. The sea exists symbolically.
As symbol the sea exists to stand for what’s radically unknown and unknowably radical. The sea exists as wide and deep expanse to plunge in into for forever, to never return from, or to return from as turned up, transformed, limp and salt sparkling, shore thing washed ashore for mourning. The sea exists as non-place, as space, as glimmering surface face to slide over incased in a craft skimming along on this surface only lonely for the next place.