New story in Metazen ---"Becoming a Couple"

I must say, I love Metazen. I think they "get me" and that's no small task.

Editor Christopher Allen selected, "Becoming A Couple", a story about caring, knowing and then
going out of your way for that woman. A fickle person can make something bad out of that, because  there is only one perfect algorithm for the creation of a beautiful relationship but infinite possibilities which can lead to failure. That fickle person doesn't have to look, or work to make up excuses, because any of them will do at the time they are needed.

Writing can be cathartic, at times, but also, at others, communicative. Last August, during a brief open window was when "Becoming A Couple" was produced.

Also of note, Jason Jordan from What to Wear During An Orange Alert was reading it too!

Me and The Circus

F. John Sharp from Right Hand Pointing noticed the circus often pops up in my stories and poems. He's correct, of course and what follows are examples of this :

The following quote is from the "Smoking with Timothy Gager" interview at Smokelong Quarterly

“The opening sentence also chains to the one that follows. I have many friends that champion causes and during the week this was written I'd heard from two about how I could change the life of an elephant by protesting the circus. The circus comes up often in my stories and poems, so off I went. “








Below you can click the links for pieces from where the circus calls me.


"A Wing, A Prayer and A Tall Man" 
 Word Riot

"People Find Comfort in Repetition" 
Poem Hunter 

"Falling For an Attached Woman"  
Referential Magazine

"Every Day There is So Much About Elephants" 
Smokelong Quarterly

"The Soul Must Go On" 
Metazen

"A Circus Memory"
Curbside Splendor

"The Best Interest of the Child"
 Thieves Jargon



From my unpublished novel An Angry Therapist’s Thursday Appointments

A clown cloud is juggling balls. There’s one for work, one for school, one for family. The 
clown drops a ball. Distention happens on its own. The clouds house more of the circus. I 
see Siegfriend and Roy with some white tigers. Is it a mirage because Roy is still whole. 
He was attacked, lived and spoke. “Don’t shoot the cat,” the cloud said. I find myself 
saying that to myself. Don’t shoot the messenger. No one listened to Roy. I’m listening to 
the clouds.

Three times the Metazen

The Soul Must Go On is a story about the afterlife and not wasting life's time which is a phrase I've

used to  base my own actions on. To me it means to live life as if it's your last day and to try to make that  last day the best one possible.

Metazen has been good to me. They've previously published some of my more symbolic prose. You are right here in the universe now and in this moment. Care about what is important to you. Don't waste life's time.

If the characters in this story seem familiar to you they've appeared before in a story about child support published in Thieves Jargon and anthologized in Treating A Sick Animal: Micro and Flash Fictions.  

Boston Cyclorama

From today's story: The next morning Wolfboy and Snickens raked my remains in with the dirt. They tossed two bits of bone to Joe and Bangles but they only sniffed at them. 

When I analyzed this for this blog post it made me think how exactly I knew people's ashes had bone in them. Years ago a co-worker named Herb died and he wanted people to celebrate his life at his memorial service. The event was held at the Cyclorama in Boston, which was a huge art space. They poured his ashes out on the floor. I saw that the ashes weren't similar to the kind you'd find in an ashtray but they were chunky. There were white bits of bone in them about the size of a knuckle.

Then the music started. It was eighties electronic music and the leader of the festivities shouted that we should celebrate and dance in Herb's ashes. I remember dancing and the sound "crunch, crunch, crunch" under my shoes.

When driving home I realized that someone would have to sweep up the ashes. What do you do with ashes that have already been celebrated upon by a group dance? The sweeping up afterward seemed so odd. Did it go from the dustpan to the trash? I really felt I needed to know.