…leaves me breathless with swallowing story. Gobbling up mash made of goodly aged elements, I eat as a pig at the trough. Digesting the protein of imagery. Growing fat in a way, I hope, that will make me an excellent meal.
Flash Fiction Fridays
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- A Death in The Family
- At Swim Two Birds
- Barthes
- BASS
- Black Swan Green
- Blindness
- BLOGGING
- Borges
- Calvino
- Clockwork Orange
- Confrontation
- Consolation of Philosophy
- Cormac McCarthy
- DeLillo
- EDUCATION
- Faulkner
- Flatland
- Geronimo Sandoval
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- Henderson The Rain King
- if on a winter's night a traveler
- Ishiguro
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- Kundera
- Life of Pi
- LITERATURE
- Margaret Atwood
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- Master and Margarita
- Munro
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- Peter Taylor
- Plato
- Ploughshares
- POETRY
- provinces of night
- REALITY
- St. Augustine
- Steinbeck
- Suttree
- The Unbearable Lightness of Being
- Tropic of Cancer
- Updike
- William Gay
- WRITING
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"I will breakfast from the cupboard where uneaten dreams are kept"
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"I foresee the successful future of a very mediocre society."
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The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology