an old writer and his words

  • AMAZONIA

    There will, I am certain, come a day when I will need to do nothing. My computer and my apps will know what I want, will obtain it without asking, will expect my thanks when it arrives, even if they are incapable of understanding what thank you means in a human world. They already plague…

    Lou Faber

  • FROM THE ASHES

    I would like to go backto the days when,after a fire reduceda commericial buildingto charred rubble,the onlookers andthe gawkers wonderedif it was an angrycustomer or employee,or sloppiness orpoor maintenance. Now, we watchas the fire marshalscomb through the ashesand the rubble, lookingnot only for the sourceof the flames but alsothe accelerant, alwayswondering as we dojust how…

    Lou Faber

  • THE RIGHT WAY

    In a world besetby poverty and pandemic,global warming and hunger,there are a myriadof questons urgentlyrequiring answers. Among themis not the questionof the proper wayto eat with a fork,or more preciselyhow to hold itwhen bringing foodto the mouthfrom the plate. I was taught to holdit like a pen, buttilted so I lookeddown on the tinesbent in…

    Lou Faber

  • MOSES SAYS TO AARON

    We sat in the tentand you complained againof our condition, knowingwhat lies just out of reach.He speaks to me, not youand there is little you can doto hide your jealousy.I often wonder what mighthave happened if I had wipedthe blood of the lamb from your lintel.It was you who watchedthe calf take shape anddid nothing,…

    Lou Faber

  • A LITTLE DRUMMER

    It seems less than fair that as a childI was Jewish to the core, adopted, yes,but certainly fully Jewish and not merelyby maternal lineage which would suffice. Christmas was alien to me then, evenwhen I left Judaism behind, a shadowthat would follow me closely intomy Buddhist practice and life. But DNA made a liar of…

    Lou Faber

  • THE WRITER STUMBLES

    Each yearin Pamplonathe bulls begintheir slow descentdown the narrow streetsgaining speednostrils flaringmuscle and sinews tautthey forge aheada white wavepreceding themin their mad dashand each yearthere is one,some years twowho, by slip of footor lapse of judgmentmeet the hornsof the lead bullwho in disgustsnorts“this oneis noHemingway.” First published in Defenestration ,Vol XVI Issue 2 August 2019

    Lou Faber

  • FOSSIL FUEL

    It should give you pauseto consider that, in the midstof boundless greed, enmeshedin the near cult of self, rushingalways to go nowhere quickly,certain the problems of the world,can be solved tomorrow, usingresources that may never bereplenished or substituted for, when we are dead and buried,we will be the fossil fuelsthat future generationsrightfully shun in horror.

    Lou Faber

  • THE FIRE THIS TIME

    He said he did not want a funeral, certainly did not want to be buried. It would be a waste of wood and metal, and its only purpose would be to enrich the mortician and it is not like he will run out of customers any time in the near future. Not, at least, until…

    Lou Faber

  • HUP TWO, MY ASS

    WARNING: A SHORT STORY, SO A LONGER READ THAN USUAL. BUT WORTH IT HOPEFULLY He wondered why he allowed himself to be in this position. Heknew that he didn’t actually allow it, he courted it. But you couldclaim allowance when you chose the lesser, by far, of two evils.As a child, his mother always told…

    Lou Faber