Author: Brad Zellar
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Friday? Night? Close Enough
But couldn’t it all have been a little nicer, as my mother’d say. Did it have to kill everything in sight, did right always have to be so wrong? I know this body is impatient. I know I constitute only a meager voice and mind. Yet I loved, I love. I want no sentimentality. I…
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Test Run
It has been called to my attention that another baseball season is almost upon us and it has been more than five months since I updated this site. Shame on me. Shame, shame, shame on me. Here I am, though, and here I will be –I swear on the Baseball Encyclopedia— on a regular basis…
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Notes Scribbled At Three A.M. While Skimming Through 'Alien Animals' and Christopher Alexander's 'A Pattern Language'
It may be that alien animals are attracted to individuals possessed of certain psychological traits. We can surmise that energy-seeking entities were around that night, and that the poacher’s blood would have met their needs. Scattered work. Magic of the city. Web of shopping. Antonio Villas Boas had blood extracted from a clean incision just…
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A Modern Version Of A Very Old Story
So, then: Even after all that impenetrable darkness and the long, bruising fall, he would live, and emerge gulping and incredulous into a world painted over in a flat coat of muted gray. In the old happily-ever-after version of such a tale, a man in the grips of blind despair would be saved by an…
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Friday
Why don’t you begin by telling me about the dreams you said have been troubling you? I’m locked out of my house and can’t find the keys. I am walking around in an unfamiliar city and everyone I encounter is speaking a language I can’t understand. I look in the mirror and I don’t recognize…
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Dear Friends
It was like this. It was this way. Here was the way it was. This is how things stood: Silently. Still. At attention. That was one moment and unfortunately this world is all about one moment to another. In the next moment everything was swirling and it was as if I was a plastic man…