Last Sunday’s snowstorm stripped a lot of our trees well before their time this season. The dying leaves couldn’t stand up to the onslaught of wet, heavy snow and ice. They fell to the ground in large clumps, robbing us of the autumn magic of slowly falling leaves that crunch happily underfoot. When the snow melted a few days later, the bare trees still cast a tone of death over the Front Range.
And we experienced a real death. A man our age that a friend of mine met a while back on a dating app passed away from sepsis. One day he was out working and laughing and enjoying the company of his friends, assuming he had at least 40 more years of life ahead. Two days later he was dead. Continue reading →
There was an old woman had three sons,
Jerry and James and John,
Jerry was hanged, James was drowned,
John was lost and never was found;
And there was an end of her three sons,
Jerry and James and John!
Well, that’s damn depressing. I think I have a pretty good idea why this one never made it into any of my children’s books. I guess this is reality for some families, but yikes, it’s a harsh tale for little ears. Continue reading →
More arms began to cram their way out through the toga’s armholes, and from beneath its short hem, as well, only they were not arms, not arms at all, and he screamed, he screamed, he screamed; it was oblivion he was screaming for, oblivion and an end to knowing and seeing, but oblivion would not come.
Millions long for immortality who don’t know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon.
And I know how it feels and looks, a body that falls fighting air all the way down, grabbing on to clumps of nothing and begging once, just once, just goddamn once, Jesus, you sniveling son of a mongrel bitch, just once that the air gives a grip.
Era la exhumación final de todo lo soñado y lo vivido, el comienzo de un viaje sin retorno hacia el pasado que ya sólo acabará conmigo.
In Santiago, the capital of the kingdom of Chile, at the very moment of the great earthquake of 1647, in which many thousands of people perished, a young Spaniard accused of a crime, Jerónimo Rugera by name, was standing by pillar of the prison in which he had been confined and was about to hang himself.