Category: Yo Ivanhoe

Odd shard, the moon. Last call. He lugs his iron head through the brass-clanging days. The dull trash-can gong of winter, a throbbing that starts in his fillings and swells clear up straining against the black cap of his underskull. Snow swept, dead silence, dead Saturday folding into Sunday morning. What is fog and what…

This one guy, every couple weeks it’s these amazing places you can’t even believe, mountains and him standing in water or strung up on a cliff and hanging from ropes. He’ll bring in ten or twenty rolls of film at a time, and it’s gotten so that I look forward to seeing him come through…

Long, long ago, in the sweltering twilight of an August night roaring with cicadas and the vacuum hum of a lazy small town in retreat from the heat and the falling darkness, the yards and sidewalks abandoned for living rooms and television sets (the wobbling blue screens of which we could see through the dark,…

I have two options when, as now, the Muse deserts me (and this has so often been the case of late, and over, say, the last dozen years). Well, actually, I suppose I do have more than two options. I could recognize, for instance, that anyone who uses the phrase “the Muse deserts me,” or…

There are surfaces you can’t get a look under. You see just a flat line, for instance, or a face, or the horizon, but that doesn’t mean there’s not something beneath or beyond them. It never means that. There’s something behind or under everything, depths and layers and distance, and it’s a rare thing that’s…

1) This, Vesithia LaRue said, is not living. Decidedly. Not. Living. Ms. LaRue was in the bar of a Chinese restaurant, where she was sitting straight as a pin at a corner table and bathed in an almost infernal red light. Though she was a non-smoker, she had the mannerisms and dramatic demeanor of someone…