Patrick M. Ohana
Bio
A medical writer who reads and writes fiction and some nonfiction, although the latter may appear at times like the former. Most of my pieces (over 2,200) are or will be available on Shakespeare's Shoes.
Stories (491/0)
Beethoven
Music Too - A Scored Haiku The music kills me every time I hear it now since AI’s in it. The original questionnaire by Bernard Pivot (a French literary talkshow host), adapted by James Lipton (Inside the Actors Studio), may offer an interested idea about the individual replying to the ten questions being asked; in this case, the one and only, Ludwig van Beethoven.
By Patrick M. Ohana2 months ago in Poets
The Long Smoke
Selfina was a heavy smoker who went through and consumed three packs of cigarettes faster than her two and a half daily meals. She was quite aware that smoking was going to kill her one day, but her love of the Joker’s brand was greater than her love of life, especially her own. She had stopped smoking for a short while — for Nicole, her partner in this shortening life, for Joey, their son, and for Ashley, their daughter — too many times. Alas, Joker’s were very good to her; extremely uplifting, as they tended to send shivers down and up her spine when she finally smoked them following a Joker’s-less period. She tried hypnosis, acupuncture, Life Sign, Nicorette, and a ghost of other therapies, but Joker’s always got the last breath.
By Patrick M. Ohana2 months ago in Fiction
The Lesser of Two Evils
To free or not to free our will, which is not real, no matter the deal. Why are we here, alive, apparently, but all dying? No one sent us unless we mean that we are the effect of a cause, an effect of countless causes and perhaps a certain degree of chance. They sent us in a way to where we find ourselves, and it is our life experience, all the effects to our lives, that guide us to what we want to do in life, although most of us never get that chance because of other causes and effects. By the way, this is one of the minor proofs of no free will.
By Patrick M. Ohana2 months ago in Poets
TV Syndrome
I opened my eyes with a sensation of fear in my heart, a feeling of dread in my mind, and caution — tantalising. I knew very well the meaning of my bed — General Hospital. It may be true that the eye is the best artist and the greatest composer, for next to me, to my left, on a parallel bed, lay a doll — perfection does not exist — thus she had to be inanimate. She told me that her name was Dorothy Newhart and that close friends called her Dolly. My Heartbeat got stronger and louder — my chest became the amplifier of my feelings. I wanted to be with this darling creature, this 20/20. She told me that I could call her, Ms. Newhart, since she believed that I had no chance of Loving her. It was a replay of the legend of the Beauty and the Beast, but I was no beast — I was a Hunter.
By Patrick M. Ohana2 months ago in Fiction