2016 was my happiest year.

I pursued my writing dream.

I lived in twelve apartments.

I wrote fifty-two stories.

I sent my stories to the Big T (The New York Titan).

The Big T sent them back.

I sent my stories to The Chesapeake Community Newsletter-Gazette.

The Chesapeake Community Newsletter-Gazette sent them back.

I just about shot myself. The bullet lodged in the wall.

I couldn’t write a word in Eternal Rest (the name of the shelter). Not at first.

The ceiling was plaster painted blue.

Then it came to me.

Rippling Tongues of Hungry Desire.

Rippling Tongues of Hungry Desire.

Rippling Tongues of Hungry Desire.

The book wrote itself. It sold itself.

I shot myself. It was a year before I could see again.

Telexa is the name of my estate. The Big T. There’s a glittering T on the rooftop.

The world’s celebrities visit Telexa. We drink champagne. We joke about orgies.

I joke about climbing the Big T and jumping. Every night.


If you like what you see on my site, you really ought to buy me a coffee (or two). More coffee = more stories, poems, cartoons and drawings for you to enjoy. Without coffee … I don’t even want to dream, of that.


Love Goes Away

My Mistress had been sleeping. On a sofa in the Rose Parlor.

She opened her eyes.

“Love goes away. You wouldn’t… Who would guess? That it’s possible. It goes away. More … than anything, that one thing. If it could stay. Living. It wouldn’t be, so difficult.

“You could lose … your livelihood. A limb. Someone. Anything. You could lose anything. But that, is everything. It’s losing everything.

“It goes away. Love goes away. You’ll fall asleep, being loved. You’ll wake up. One morning. And it’s gone. Like a dream. It’s gone away. It’s gone.

She closed her eyes, my Mistress. She appeared tranquil.

I did not disturb her.