Author: Brad Zellar

Here I am, full of days. Maybe you know what I mean. You let enough time pass through you and pretty soon you start to feel the world within you winding down. There’s this greater, increasingly unfamiliar friction to your days, and the appetite packs up its bags and goes looking elsewhere for its beefsteaks…

Here, it seems, is where we are. Right here. And for what purpose are we here? Do we have anything resembling a mission statement? No, no, it appears that we do not have anything resembling a mission statement. Nor, apparently, do we have even a general idea regarding what it is we are up to.…

We have all been expelled from the garden, but the ones who suffer most in exile are those who are still permitted to dream of perfection. –Stanley Kunitz, “Reflections” As God was his witness, the guy said, he was not shitting me. What he was telling me was exactly the fucking truth. Look at him.…

And you, what do you seek? —Rene Daumal The love of books is for children who glimpse in them a life to come, but I have come to that life and feel uneasy with the love of books. This is my life, time islanded in poems of dwindled time. There is no other world. —Robert…

Inside-the-park homerun? An 0-2 wild pitch with a runner on third? All those half-assed at-bats in the seventh and eighth innings? The inability, time and again, to get a big two-out hit? Four runs in two games? S’Awright. I don’t know what else to tell you. Maybe God doesn’t work day games.