life in pastiche, its fantastisch ! #1

BARTHELME ONESTORY MS D NAKOVA’s milk-white Russian cheek blushed red broken maps of Australia everytime she took me to bed. The sandstone walls of her basement apartment coughed up dust and the red flush moved to the tip of her hooked nose, transported by the IGA brand tissues she wiped her allergy-borne mucus with.Continue reading “life in pastiche, its fantastisch ! #1”

I have long carried the following thought(s)/emotion(s) in my head:

  The next installment in my Nunzia Nanzio stories where we leave mike d. and rob g. and go on a walk around the block where they live:  The people who live on and around this narrow, tree-lined, strip remember nothing, have no memories of their past, anything, except for an instinct to use whateverContinue reading “I have long carried the following thought(s)/emotion(s) in my head:”

the end*

the last time mike d. saw rob g. was at an indian restaurant called passage to india. it was missing the ‘the’ or the ‘a’, he cannot quite remember. words are just dead neons anyway, ha. the restaurant was at the back of an alley, with a blue garbo at the front, and a statueContinue reading “the end*”