an old writer and his words

  • ONE MORE, MORE

    That there is another shootingcomes as no surprise,it is commonplace now, expectedand there are only questions:how many this time, whatkind of weapon was used, whatmotivated the shooter to do it. What does it say when we definemass killing as requiring threeor more dead bodies in one place. The body of the single victimis no less…

    Lou Faber

  • WRITTEN

    It was written for all to seebut went unseen as no oneentered the portal willingly,never sufficient curiosityto offset the foreboding.Everyone knew what it saidbut knowing and seeing areseparated by an unbridgeable chasm.It remained an imposed solitude,an isolation inherent in location,implicit in a world spinningoff its moral axis, time extendedand compressed, an irregular pulse.It was written…

    Lou Faber

  • AFOOT, A CITY

    As you walk the streetsof a city like New York,you hear a polyglot of languages,and closing your eyes youmight have no idea where you were. Listen carefully, eavesdropon conversations, imagine the storiesthey are telling, the joysand heartbreak laid bare before you,half heard, half filled into make the story palatable to you. Life in the city…

    Lou Faber

  • LINES

    We love drawing lines and borders. There are few things we do better than that. But increasingly we have lost our once finely honed skill at placing them where they ought to be. I won’t even get into walls on borders to keep out families, those like our families were once. I mean small lines…

    Lou Faber

  • 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