Maybe…the band looks a little bored…maybe…nobody’s drinking…and maybe…nobody’s dancing…except that weird couple from Texas…and maybe, I have treachery in my heart…
Author Archives: The Mark
Sydney 3
He was happy leaning against the ferry railing crossing Sydney harbour. It was too nice here, and the writing was suffering. The fish market, the bridge, the sunshine and endless beaches. The picturesque neighborhoods. Efforts to find a seedy underbelly had failed and instead there was just joy and nothing interesting to write about.
Sydney 2
The sand here feels so nice, slightly coarse, very satisfying. Bury your feet in it, it seems to hit all the right spots. Watch the ocean roll in and feel the wind blowing through your hair.
Sydney 1
The other side of the world…summer…the city more captivating than you imagined…a glance in an elevator…a camera left in a restaurant…safe behind the bar when you run back twenty minutes later.
Shanghai Airport
Shanghai airport: I dip one toe into China, and then I’m gone.
TV + Boobs
He mostly just surfs looking for boobs. This country is turning to the dogs! Look at how much I pay for cable television. One hundred and thirty dollars, it’s ridiculous! Five hundred channels and all they show is hockey. Sometimes he falls asleep on the couch. It’s another good decision.
TV + Boobs
He mostly just surfs looking for boobs. This country is turning to the dogs! Look at how much I pay for cable television. One hundred and thirty dollars, it’s ridiculous! Five hundred channels and all they show is hockey. Sometimes he falls asleep on the couch. It’s another good decision.
Manifesto
Writing a manifesto…and boom…my brain is toast like space ghost, like marshmallows left in the bowl too long. “You look tired,” somebody said to me at work today, and suddenly it was all I could do to claw back the fatigue.
The Others 3
Are they the sort of people who own sex toys? Are they the sort of people who use them? Would they be embarrassed if a dinner party guest rifled through their bedside table and found them? Or would they only pretend to be embarrassed?
I can hear the iron ticking
Dear Friend: Lately my letters have just been a series of endless questions, a series of what-ifs and yes-buts. Do you think that I’ve acted foolishly? Do you blame me for what’s happened? I have to go, I can hear the iron ticking in the other room and I feel tired.