Dread Poets Sobriety

  • Pricks and Bones

    There’s something almost magical about sitting down at the computer to write with zero plan. It’s our understanding of infinity loosely fulfilled. Like a queer Schrodinger’s box on meth where the cat could in the end be dead, alive, a velociraptor, potted fern, 1915 Cracker-Jack Ty Cobb Baseball card, Jesus Christ or any other perceivable Continue reading

  • A Pale Night

    “And I looked; and I beheld a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.” -Revelations 6:8 Happy return friends to this stellar cellar of secular non-sequitur. In fact, I live on the ground floor. Though one supposes it could still be a basement walkout. Damn you, Continue reading

  • Cerebral Fellatio

    Glorious would seem to be the most appropriate adjective to affix to our current climate. Prominent sunshine, gentle birdsong, that bizarrely unquantifiable smell which portends Spring’s unequivocal arrival and Summer’s inevitable embrace. Wholesome. I like time. Time is an unabashed and notorious asshole. Criminally short while agonizingly long it exists in this absurd temporal paradigm Continue reading