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Sipping Beer in the Shadow of GodTravel Notes and Prose Poems in the spirit of Basho
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JOHN MUIR’S AUGUST HEAD John Muir’s queer and sundry quotations and exclamations shine through pane after pane of Yosemite Valley’s buildings. Less a ghost and more of a sacred mascot, his bearded visage seems to hang down from every shaggy tree and to impose itself in the crinkled cliff-shadows on every side of this immense religious fosse into which tourists pour as amply as blood or wine. “How glorious a greeting the sun gives the mountain!” “I never saw a discontented tree.” “The mountains are calling, and I must go.” Kindle Edition on Amazon ($0.99).
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“When the Moon Melts” The dwarf’s hideous face retreated from the basement window, an array of grimy grey whiskers and a radish nose. “When the moon melts Chanted Mr. Plimsoul and the lady together. Wild shadows flickered around them, and they gestured toward the shut box, black and shiny as a beetle’s back. They seemed to be trying to compel the box to open or spontaneously erupt in flame…or something. “Casket of Augersaal, I command you: open!” Mr. Plimsoul shouted, making a weird gesture at the box. “By Neamiahas’ eye, by Qyudditch’s kin, I say: unfasten!” the lady hissed, her boa and her long arms gesturing in the flickering light of the braziers. The casket hopped on the sawhorses once, as if a person inside were being tickled or kicked, and then was still. A thin jet of purple smoke sizzled from one end of the casket… and then stopped. Kindle Edition on Amazon ($0.99).
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Evil Interludes
Novella inspired by the life of the French symbolist poet, Charles Baudelaire. From the book: The title of my intensest work, Flowers of Evil, says everything. I am all declared in this paradox. It was gestated with the patience of an elephant’s child, which labors 14 months in the womb before its gigantic birth, the size of a black coup caught in a rain of elemental perfumes. I am positive it is worth all the lies I have told to see it to print; it is also, I may mention, almost worth all the truths I have had to suffer to bring it off in rage and patience. People… their faces go up in flame when they read it. And yet, they deny me everything, all the glory that they were so willing to load down Satan with, they leave me bereft of, although they declare me his disciple. Hypocrites! I am tired, even, of seeing through their terrible, tepid hearts; pale as the starved spit of a saint! Willess imbeciles. The virtue of my trepanned treatise lies exactly in its faults, and these may all be summed up in one singular, monstrous phrase: it is honest! Kindle Edition on Amazon ($0.99).
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