fiction

the taste out of peanut butter

The baseball moon hangs luminously over the windshield. Once, maybe months ago, you would have smiled up and whistled to that craterous face. But everything, even whistling, feels exhausting now. You join the stream of cars on Main Street and set your teeth forward, as if you could deafen the rush of a happy, autumnal world on the cobblestoned sidewalks–sweatered university students, clutching freshly-carved pumpkins, clutching each other–by clenching your jaw. As if you could deafen your thoughts.

Then you are there. Sooner than you want, not soon enough. And even as you think it, you know it is not Time being unfair but you. It’s just that there is so much unfair, it’s hard to keep it from rubbing off on you. Continue reading

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on writing

on same-olds and thought-thieving

I was walking around downtown the other day, standing by a rain-swollen river and trying to think of something, anything, original. But the more rocks I “skipped” (more like, plunked) across the water, the more I dug around in the old leaves of my mind, the less innovative I discovered my thoughts became. Continue reading

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