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AFTERLIFE
In the farthest reachesof the afterlife, the old mengather each day, althoughday and night are meaninglessto them, just assignedfor purposes of the writer. The Buddha recites sutrashoping the others willbe in the moment with him,while Hillel smiles, standson one foot and dreamsof a lean pastrami on ryewith a slice of half sour. Christ muses on…
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RED EYE
No matter how hard you look at maps you cannot find that evanescent border that divides weariness from exhaustion. You need no papers to slip across, no guards or fences will greet you, you may be well across before anyone notices. The return journey is harder still for you won’t have marked your way, and…
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SPACE(S) TIME
Interstitial time locked in a rent in the continuum. Space is bent in on itself, a temporal Klein bottle. Inside the event horizon Shroedinger’s cat is compressed until the purr of the naked singularity can no longer be heard. The Escherian path winds slowly across the Königsberg bridges crossing each once until the twins are no…
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an old writer and his words 