It’s nearly 2 a.m. I think I was kicked awake by something large passing through my dreams. A shape, that’s all I can remember, as though I were treading water in the warm Mediterranean and looked down at something enormous quietly parting the sea beneath me, shoving aside the bioluminescent phytoplankton like a bouncer crossing the pit – CBDR! (Constant Bearing, Decreasing Range) …


Everything is a good title for something.

A sign above the door reads “Meals and memories made here.” I can vouch for this. The food was delicious but I’m having all these detailed glimpses into my life as a motorcycle mechanic in rural Iowa. To the best of my knowledge I’ve yet to set foot in that state.

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Bleating Hearts

In the dream, I was doing a favor for Billy Dee Williams. At 79 years, he was getting tired of being harassed by an obnoxious Star Wars fan in a Greedo mask who kept demanding that Williams drink Colt 45 with him and answer inane questions about Cloud City. I offered to meet the fan […]

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Commercial break.

The gutters of the subways full of spent phone cards and burner phones… swarms of MacBooks in coffee houses piloted by barefoot hipsters dressed fashionably poor while sporting thousands of dollars in tattoo flash like racing team coveralls.

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Reach out, touch space.

“Welcome to wherever, the local time is about what you expect it to be.” Sometimes I catch sight of myself at other departure lounges boarding other planes. I exchange a knowing smile with myself; we hoist our identical travel mugs and part ways.

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Waiting for the wormwood.

The great Oscar Wilde is quoted as saying “After the first glass of absinthe you see things as you wish they were. After the second, you see things as they are not. Finally, you see things as they really are, and that is the most horrible thing in the world…”

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