an old writer and his words

  • WANDER WHY

    The path meandered more than he rememberedbut he was the first to admithis memory was never his strongest suit.It didn’t help that he had consumedtwo margaritas at lunch, and even hedidn’t believe the excuse that this wasa slow day for him, still sober at two in the afternoon.But he wandered the path, for thatis what…

    Lou Faber

  • SHARING

    It wasn’t exactly what you wanted, butyou probably wouldn’t have been all that upset.It was all about you, but not for you, thatcomes later, and we know you’ll be pleased.This one was for some of us who needed thisto be able to keep going, to keep from lookingonly back, into the darkness that is our…

    Lou Faber

  • ANYWHERE BUT

    I was twelve at the time, would havechosen to be anywhere but there.I hated visiting her at home, but thistook my disgust to a whole new level.We were never close, never would be,she so old, so old world, so unlikeanyone I had known, so like the womensitting outside the old hotels on South Beachwaiting for…

    Lou Faber

  • THE EDGE OF DREAMS

    On the razor edge of dreamsthe periphery of consciousnessa face appears, and I am left to wonderwho this person is, who he might be.At first he is a childwith a pixie cut, a bowl placedover the head, the bangs cutwithout considering the face peering outand others peering in.But, as sleep washing the lastsands of consciousness…

    Lou Faber

  • A MOMENT

    He would be the first to admitthat he hated most things avant-gardeparticularly when it appliedto either art or music.It was simply a matter of beingin the moment, and he knewyou could not be ahead of timefor there was only the momentin which you were in.

    Lou Faber

  • HISTORY

    Deep in the valley of memoryon the altar of Areswe sacrifice them, always youngeach generation we areAbraham unrestrained,the pardon always moments late.We are Olmecs, relying noton the sun’s passagebut on a mainspring tightly wound.Our gods hunger and mustbe sated lest we lose favorand their image change. In our boneyardpriests and victimsslowly decomposefade into earthwashed deepby…

    Lou Faber

  • ROCK AND HARD PLACE

    The hardest age by faris the one where you are stuckin the middle, children below,parents above, and utterly nohope of escape from the vise.Things your mother could do effortlesslynow seem impossible for her, and thosethings now need doing immediately.Your children, ever wise at creatingnovel approaches to anything they wantin life regardless of your opinion,suddenly cannot…

    Lou Faber

  • SUNDAY NIGHT

    It is almost midnight.If this was Seoul, the Hilton,I could walk down the hillto Namdaeman Marketand wander around the shopsthe smell of the city, of pigs headssimmering in giant caldrons,fish lying on beds of melting iceand look at silk and stainlessflatware, watches and celendoncasting its faint green glowin the fluorescent night,but it is Virginia and…

    Lou Faber

  • THE FUTURE HOLDS

    It should be more of a surprise,on this day that you turn ninetybut the mirror, as you see it,has you looking as you did twentytwo years earlier, and twentybefore that, unchanging in anymeaningful way, yet thosearound you laugh when youtell them what you believe. Not a day over sixty-eightyou say, and time to go offand…

    Lou Faber

  • THE CLUB

    It’s jazz, it’s a club,but there what once wasis no more, there areno ashtrays on the table,overflowing early intothe second set, no cloudof cigarette smoke descendingfrom the too dark ceiling.There is no recognizable odorof a freshly lit Gaulloise,in the trembling fingers ofa young man trying to look cool,trying not to cough on eachinhalation, in the…

    Lou Faber