The carnival existed perhaps before the great grandmother, and afterwards. For this, the carnival can be likened to the world in microcosm, because the world exists before we us and after us, ours being a finite physical journey, even though we don’t like to think of it on the sunny carnival days of happy forgetting or even on the more pensive fairground nights when we sit and watch the giant wheel lighted in the sky spin its rounds and the early autumn wind and air sings in from the invisible lake beyond.
Brian Michael Barbeito’s When We Fell In Love
My motto is simple. It goes, ‘It is better to be even a bad poet than a good anything else.’
Playing the Fix (a novel excerpt)
Crossing from the bathroom toward the balcony, I saw my phone buzzing on the bed, an incoming call. A 702 number, Vegas area code. My forearm hairs stood at attention. Had to be Lester disguising his number. Maybe to gloat about putting one by me. To warn me—never trust someone like him, and to wish me good luck fixing the unfixable, replacing cash so Sigfried doesn’t kill me. Lester was on his way out of the country. I picked up the phone, defiantly unable to mask my voice from someone insane.
Cracks in the Sidewalk
He was about her age, twentysomething; he was also, somewhere under his filthy clothes and exploding dirty hair, good-looking. Handsome even. Drug addict, she concluded. Any second her Uber would be here.
Lynne Pickett’s When We Fell In Love
By high school I was sitting in front of a full-length mirror, staring at myself (as all teenagers do) and would tell stories into that mirror for hours as I completely lost track of time.
Anaesthesia Dolorosa
I hadn’t interacted much with Nadia. Our paths had crossed but never overlapped. My mother hired help for almost everything but had never outsourced parenting.
