February 24th, 2011 -- "Generation, Loudmouth"

February 24th, 2011 -- "Generation, Loudmouth"

"This is not coffee. You want coffee? You want coffee? This is not coffee. Granted, it's winter. I'll give them that. I'll give you that. It's cold, getting the right stuff is difficult, but there are better options. There are better options for a bit more money, but what's money anyways? Money is an institution that defies the great tastes of the world. Better to be rid of the bucks in the winter and to be full of hot coffee.

Know what I mean? It's tough. Pass me one of those napkins..."



February 22nd, 2011 -- "Murray, Friend of the Land"

"Murray, Friend of the Land"


A warm day in the summer when the sea breeze from the west rides calm in straight lines and the pollen blends with air to create the healthy smell of sunlight. A warm day where the soft, short grass in the yards of all stands on end in the hot air, in a multitude, paying homage to last week's morning rainstorms. From below, the electric cloud pop of the sky reaches up and away, pushing the black and the steel-cold of space to the very edge of things with a very soft, flexing blue the color of a young robin's egg.

In the land of giants, it is Murray, and no other, who sits with nature at the table of friendship.



February 3rd, 2011 -- "3:44PM, Geranium observation #1, late winter, 2011"

"3:44PM, Geranium observation #1, late winter, 2011"

"Damp, white, red, pink petals chilling in a literal sense against a thin pane of storm glass. The natural press of a plants reach. Many chunky leaves with a fine, grown fur. Fine fur like a kiwi, like soft skin smelling like organic, chemical life. A miniature forest of lime green, the slender stems giving way near the base to rough casings of hard, bending, plant branches. The tray sitting wide with many planters, small boxes of black plastic, dusty with light brown potter's soil. Yellowing, dead leaves dropped flat in piles in the dirt. Dirt taking leaves to make them part of the system of the room. The sill covered in water spots. The watering can, an empty soda bottle. "



January 3rd & 4th, 2011

January 4th, 2011 -- "Altair IV"

The speed and stream of the bubbles and the vivid pink of the cylinder left the four scientists amazed. Was this really it?


January 3rd, 2011 -- "The Batman"



January 2nd, 2011 -- "The Star Chutes and The Worlds Below"

"The Star Chutes and The Worlds Below"

A fine, swirling mist.
Massive strings of hot, cosmic space stuff.
Rings of blue hot radioactivity.
Crisp cracks of radio chatter.
The cold expanses of starry, black nothings.
In space, a light blue gray speck of space station.
Planets thick with choking atmospheres.
The multitude of debris and ghostly particles of worlds long past.
The painful freeze of disintegrating energy in the shadows of heavenly bodies.
Many men and women drawn bright white against black like little dots of spit in space.

A sun.
Many suns.
Stars of globed, orange fire, pulsing and alive, each with a place to sit.

This is their home.

City-sized blasts of space metal rotating slowly in an insane tumble.
Hair-like streams of fading space gas, the contrails of the quickly moving.
The blackened and fired morsels of silhouetted earths.
The ancient, the storied.
Small points of lacked light blotting out the surfaces of nearby stars.
The pull and struggle of time against the weight and the vertiginous relativity of objects, the confused distance seconds travel through space with no one in it.

The idea of distance between the worlds.
Vast stretches of things with nothing nearby to tell the difference.
Many things in much space with little outward importance.
Ideas of destinations as things set aside,
islands of reality, the disconnection of the crucial.

In it all, white spots.