James Wood vs. Don DeLillo

The Spiritual Significance of Music

The Non-Fiction Bookshelf #1

Guerrilla Camera Phone #1
For roughly the last 10 years I’ve had jobs that take me all over Colorado’s front range. First it was electrical and now for the last 7 of those years it’s been IT work that’s put me anywhere from Pueblo to Cheyenne on a given day. And I’ve never failed to notice the uniqueness of the situation as I spend a lot of time driving, which I really enjoy, and being in different places that bring a constant influx of characters normal and not. On a good day it can be cathartic because the solitude and randomness al

Of Mice & a man
Lately I’ve been having a problem with mice in my house. It’s nothing new and I’ve become accustomed to dealing with their occasional incursions over the years. In fact I’m used to all sorts of wildlife living with me on the eastern most outskirts of metro Denver. I literally live in the last urban neighborhood before the landscape abruptly becomes a prairie and as a result some of my neighbors include; deer, foxes, raccoons, prairie dogs, snakes, eagles, skunks, coyotes, owls, rabbits, hawks, some weird people that appear to live like animals, and of course, lots and lots of field mice.

Footprints From The Day Before - Very Short Fiction
Face and city reflected in the stars through glass. The dishwasher lulls to sleep. Walls fade to foam, the trees turn to oceans. In whispers and hum. On the pink edge of haloed sky churning and blaring safety from soapy waters crashing inside its factory. Isotropic. Refineries sweating and bloated blending curre

The Fiction Bookshelf #2
The Song Is You - Arthur Phillips The critically lauded Arthur Phillips’ fourth novel, The Song Is You, is a 21st century meditation on love and music that washes the reader in poetic prose and imagery, but ultimately amounts

Dirt and Dark- Very Short Fiction
On blood and concrete the body. Fear. The body, a vanishing point on the horizon.Under the summer night of street light, old buildings; hardened like the city that made its needs and torment. It was built to collapse inward from its own weight of thought, NoIse, instinct, QuIet. Now. From clenched fists, from boots, from 4 soldiers of the zeitgeist, imbuing ethos into already rubbled debris. The city runs away from the defeated mind; the body laying in its shadow of/and the slow fade to nothing. To death, final freedom, to Being gone and away.