Category: Yo Ivanhoe

Your ideals are invisible clouds So try not to suffocate the poor, the peasants, with your sympathies. They know that you’re staring at them. —Jim Harrison, from “Easter Morning” Dance on, you pigs, what concern is it of mine? —Franz Kafka, Diaries, 1914 Could any of this possibly be true, these things you tell us?…

The King was widely regarded as a complete fucking jackass, a man who traded his Kingdom and his wondrous gifts for a chain of muffler shops. The Queen left him immediately, and was followed in short order by his retinue (for he had, in fact, once had a retinue). A few desperate and greasy palace…

I don’t recall if the local giant ever actually claimed to have special powers. It did, however, seem to me that he conducted himself as if he had sprung from the pages of mythology. What I’m trying to say, I guess, is that this didn’t appear to be just another ordinary, run-of-the-mill giant. For one…

SWF, young enough, not yet old, weird, fine-enough looking (and that’s not just therapy talking), absolutely no interest in or patience with mingling, machinery, or the usual fanciness. Likes nasty weather, flying and creeping and vulnerable things, C-SPAN when people are just sitting around sipping from glasses of water or clearing their throats, Jeff What’s-His-Name,…

The forest. The sea. The garden. The grindstone. The long and winding road. The moon. The stars. Sunrise. Sunset. Ecstasy. Exhaustion. The heart as metaphor. The heart as living, beating thing. Myths. Reality. Then. Now. Here. There. Beyond either here or there. ‘This pining meat.’ This ticking clock. The second hand. The hours. The days.…

When Buddy Clister came up the hill that afternoon he wasn’t his usual shrill, braying self. This was a guy who’d once had a fistfight with Eddie Guster’s mother, and Mrs. Guster had kicked Buddy’s ass and bloodied his nose. You’d think that would be a pretty tough thing for an aspiring two-bit punk to…