fiction and musings from a gay black dude with delusions above his station
Alexandria’s library still burns in my heart. If we had not lost the accumulated knowledge of that ancient temple of wisdom, would we have a cure for cancer today? Would we have warp drive? What would our world look like now if we hadn’t taken those sixteen thousand steps backwards—if we haven’t had to retrace…
I once knew a space like the Ghost Ship. It may still be around, I don’t know. I visited it once when a friend had an art exhibition there. It wound around, corridor after corridor of sectioned off studios. The ceiling seemed impossibly high. It had a primitive feel to it, the quintessence of two-by-four…
“The Passion Flower series, Mr. Gale,” he said after a long sip of brandy, “you asked what was the inspiration.” “Yes.” “It was my pathetic attempt at career suicide. I wanted to destroy everything I had built up. I wanted the world to write me off and leave me the fuck alone. But it didn’t…
We stood in front of a shelf marked 1953. A gap sat in the middle of otherwise tightly packed volumes. He began stroking the dust from the empty space. Again, it felt as if he were stroking my skin. This time I let myself experience it, for a little while. “Where are those volumes?” I…
You’ve changed That sparkle in your eyes is gone Your smile is just a careless yawn You’re breaking my heart You’ve changed One of the last songs Billie Holiday recorded, accompanied by strings, horns, and an angelic female chorus singing high soprano, a delicate arrangement that only enhanced the delicate state of her voice. Her…
