Very Like a Politician: a Limericky Sort of Political Essay Done Late at Night With A Sore Shoulder and Vicodin (You and Me, Rush) "When it comes to this I should prefer emigrating to some country where they make no pretence of loving liberty -- to Russia, for instance, where despotism can be taken pure, and without the base alloy of hypocracy [sic]." Abraham Lincoln, August 24, 1855 - Letter to Joshua Speed Once Inspired by Obamafu I thought I might do one of thes...

I move in this land of sundown shadows, concrete canyons, steel peaks and asphalt plains. This land of predation, land of the hunt where lower, slower beings burrow into card-key dens and wrought iron lairs and herd together along ancient tracks of bison and followers of bison. This land of changelings, rodent wings, Bonsai kittens poured into Spandex skins. This land of illusion, mirage, chiroptera storms swarm from the depth of caves and imagination to tie me into the ebb and flow ...

The Hand That Cradles the Rock Is a child’s hand, the color of the desert morning, soft as hope in a land of dreams of faith and prophets and walls and Goliaths Pax Israelum Russian accents Brooklynese. It is a young man’s hand, strong and sure as David the King’s, the shepherd boy who held the will of God as if a mighty truth and holds mythology as if a stone from the Valley of Elah, as if a people also chosen for another fate. It is an old man’s hand, hard ...

I move in this land of sundown shadows, concrete canyons, steel peaks and asphalt plains. This land where dogs feed dogs that feed upon dogs and lower, slower beings burrow into card key dens and wrought iron lairs and herd together along the ancient track of bison and followers of bison and all that follows all that’s been and all that is again. This land of changelings, rodent wings, Bonsai kittens poured into spandex skins. This land of illusion, mirage, chiroptera storms swarm f...

Tiffany opened the door. The young man from the café stood in the rain. Wet. Shivering. “This yours?” “My scarf! Yes. I thought I’d lost it.” “You did.” She smiled. He smiled, too, rain dripping from his chin. “I guess so. Come in out of the rain.” She stood aside and let him enter. “How did you know where to find me?” “I overheard you on your cell. Talking to your friend.” “Bad habit,” she sai...

Tiffany opened the door. It was raining. The young man from the café stood there. Wet. Shivering. “This yours?” Her scarf. “Yes. I thought I’d lost it.” “You did.” She smiled. He smiled, too, rain dripping from his chin. “So I did. Come in out of the rain.” She stood aside and let him in. “How did you know where to find me?” “I overheard you on your cell. Talking to your friend.” “Bad habit,” s...

Tiffany opened the door. It was raining. A young man stood there. Wet. She had seen him at the café. “This yours?” he asked, holding her scarf. “Yes,” she said. “I thought I’d lost it.” “You had.” She smiled. “I guess so. Come in out of the rain.” She stood aside and he entered. “How did you know where to find me?” “I overheard you on your cell. Talking to your friend.” “Bad habit,” s...

Witches. Lightly armored, hovering gunships, hiccup-quick shadows over prop-washed earth, wetland. Flitting insects among moss-clad trees, swamp grass, cat-tail parapets of the emerald prince. Tadpole nation. Squirming, dark, spermatozoan masses aspire to amphibiandom, enchantment, cold light, witchfire.  

Ninety men deployed alongside the road and fell in behind the Mark IIIs and half-tracks sent to secure the village. Ngorath, Nagaroth or Nog-Nag-some-goddamned-thing that sounded equally ridiculous. It occurred to Pabst that the Russian’s would be served equally well if they numbered their villages instead of naming them, Boil on the Ass of the World I, Boil on the Ass of the World II, Boil on the Ass of the World III, and so on. These places were, after all, equally drab, equally unre...

I move in this land of sundown shadows, concrete canyons, steel peaks and asphalt plains. This land where dogs eat dogs and are eaten by dogs, where lower, slower beings burrow into card key dens and wrought iron lairs and herd together along the ancient track of bison and followers of bison and all that follows all that’s been. This land of changelings, rodent wings, Bonsai kittens poured into spandex skins. This land of illusion, mirage, chiroptera storms swarm from the depth of ...