I am a writer who focuses on themes of deification, magic, war, and comedy.
The White Tigress
I’m on a streetcar in San Fransisco. I get off at the intersection of Broadway and Columbus. I’m looking for the City Lights bookstore. There it is, right in front of me. It’s in the flatiron building. Crossing the street, I think about the beat poets of the 60’s, Jack Kerouac and the like, who walked the same path I am walking now. I blush when I see a massive poster with my face on it. It’s a black-and-white shot of me wearing a vintage wide-brimmed hat which I’m pulling down over one eye and looking back over my shoulder; I look like the femme fatale of some film noir detective movie and my lips are bright red. My signature is written in lipstick; it’s pink, and there’s a heart over the ‘i’ in Toni. Electric words flash: Book signing tonight!
Stars of Track and Field
From the top of the bleachers, you see there’s a fellow trotting around the track. The sun is newly-risen, and sits low in the sky. The jogger passes underneath it, coming around the bend in your direction. He’s got on a royal blue track suit — jacket and pants — and white running shoes. His hair hangs just above his shoulders; it’s scrunchy, and it bounces as he jogs. On the far side of the track, there’s a brick building with words in white capital letters that say: Comanche Stadium. Beyond the structure, you see a field of Texas Bluebonnets in the cool blue hue.
The Wading Heron
Releasing its desire, the wading heron is rewarded with lunch. George read these words in a copy of the I Ching — a book of philosophy can also be used for divination. The way it works is that one flips coins, and based on the sequence of heads and tails that are flipped, you read a particular chapter and line from the I Ching book. It’s bibliomancy. Another way to do it is to pick up any old book of any shelf and open to a random page while focusing on a question in your mind and you open the book and point to a line without aiming for anything and there’s the answer to your question.
The Red Chapulín
A chapulín lit on the stone wall at the overlook outside the church on Cerro de San Miguel. Down in the valley, there are marketplace stalls that sell those meaty red locusts roasted and seasoned with lime and salt and wrapped in tortillas and to me they taste like tiny land-lobsters.
Dennis Longhorn lay motionless in the leather recliner with his head inside of a black cube. Sometimes, as if dreaming, he would smile. Outside, rain rolled down the window and smeared the lights of the city. A man stood at the window and regarded the super-city while he waited for his partner to wake up. Ken Brown flicked his cigarette into an ashtray that sat on a desk by the window. The lights out there appeared to reach eternity. This was what used to be known as Phoenix. Las Vegas was now a suburb of Los Angeles.
In Alaska in the spring, great grizzly bears gorge themselves on berries. A diet of northern red currants, raspberries, low-bush and high-bush cranberries, and crowberries turns bear fat pink. Berry-fed bear fat is melted down and mixed into teas with honey. It’s used for making biscuits, pancakes, and waffles. Women, and men, too, apply the rosy fat on the skin and it cools and tones the complexion, and it gives hair a healthy shine. It’s believed by some to restore hair, fortify gray matter, and increase sperm count. Berry-fed bear fat may as well be rose gold — it’s as expensive. An ounce can sell for a hundred dollars. Each year in the spring, hunters come to Alaska in search of brown bears, kodiak, glacier, and black. Franklin Evermore is one such hunter.
"Information Command." "Yes, Big Wheeler?" "How far are we from Omaha?" "We are currently five-hundred and ninety-seven miles from Omaha, Nebraska."
A Write to the Death
Welcome to the Great American Bake-off. It’s the year 2078, and the world is over-populated. There has been no nuclear holocaust, nor has a pandemic wiped us all off the planet. Nevertheless, Earth is as dystopian as some post-apocalyptic tale.