Last-minute women notice me and latch on, converging in narcotized spirals, old sunflowers twisting towards a fake light. Ugly, used up people, turning like dirty snow, terrified of facing the sunlight alone, of the hour long drunken drive home.

But not once did we mention heaven. The next day we bought another one.

(one of my early works: an image-text collage, animated in flash.)

His feet are the size of thumbs, the segments of his toes no larger than grains of rice.

The crowd gathered around the dying man's bed, waiting for his last words. He was a genius. The most prolific writer and philosopher to ever live. He wiped his ass with the words of Shakespeare. The thoughts of Plato, Socrates, Descartes, and Nietzsche w

Days went by as I stood in the woods waiting for a tree to fall, and when none did, I determined the universe is cold and indifferent and that man’s only hope is to buy wood chippers.

She stood there with ladylike maturity; her eyes were frightening with an unforgiving look, visible in her tears that pierced the very core of Oryn’s heart.

his wife had made love to another man, out of spite or love or to wake him from his conventional slumber, we never learned. We were there as a foil, a first step towards reconciliation, unction.

what a mess

I would roll my eyes, give one word replies or a smiley face.

Christmas is here and there's work to do.

I hope I don’t have aches and pains in heaven Cause here on Earth I ache in all my parts These old bones don’t have the spring they used to I sure hope heaven has electric shopping carts

If I play my accordion too loudly while you're painting, you complain. You stamp about in your room under mine. You fetch the broom from the closet and use it to thump vehemently on the ceiling. I feel the vibrations through my feet.

We met an old friend and his old dog. We went off leash on the lush Buffalo grass. He and I—this old friend, I mean—talked mostly of divorce, something we shared between us.

Thomas Friedman was right when he said, “Much of this biodiversity in Indonesia is now under threat.” It had been this way since gasoline became currency; I remember bartering with The Governance for the newest edition of The Guinness Book of