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peccata mortem

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Fraxinus is a good hard wood at market but its leaves are wild. The ash almost always turns early in the autumn, surging bright and hot into the shorter cooler nights of fall. But the magic in them is gone. Instead, they're drunk on the juice of summer's lily and fern, scattered by the squirrels and the breast heavy log nymphs, the trees are slack and thin with hangover. The house sits behind the wreck of these wobble drunks, peeking through. It's tossed eves are banging in the long winds off the lake. The garage is also poor in purpose and execution, the less I say of it the better.
There's rotting wood, ratty with bird shit and worm stuff that's descending into the busy grass out in front. The doors are gone and all of the windows are broke. The smaller rocks, the good throwing stones are inside with ache of the mildew that's spreading over the high birch paint along the withering walls. "You should come with me," Nancy steps out of the stairwell as …

When Our Architects Dream of Sweaty Slumber

When roses match (The rabbits burn and others won't make sexual overtures involving soda cans and candid smiles When roses are red and they're soft and as real as the money money in the house with the turn turn turn) Then roses same as day December is like August and the humble Republican disrobes. The Democrat watches, blushing, "Did the tattoo hurt?"
"Only if you really like Ayn Rand," he says dropping the suggestively long belt beside the big oval bed.
"Well then it's a good thing that the President just signed an executive order undermining the long term security of your personal information on the Federal level while the Governor is busy eradicating it's immediate safety on the State level."
"Why so," the Republican asks, slipping out of his wet leather slippers.
"Small talk, I'm nervous I guess," the Democrat liked his chances better back at the piano bar.
"Privacy I love it. It sounds just like a new …

Our city wasn't planned as such

The stage is really cold, the door outside slaps shut again. There's a stage hand walking in a tight circles with a length of chain and some pliers. Carmen's forehead is really red like she's been shopping and the kids won't shut up. "The angels don't supplicate themselves and they do not bounce," the vastness of the theatre is only alluded to by the extent of its sounds bouncing around in the dark. "Lincoln was shot, no one bounced. Corn is served and no one bounces. So stop being such a dick limper and get on with it."
"Well I think I like the way you sing. Maybe if you put on your nice coat and pin up your hair," no one can see past the front row of chairs. All anyone can ever see is his feet like dangling dancers on the top of the knobby gold upholstering. The smell of tobacco is rancid and thick as old tar. "Others may drown in slow rivers or wade through slurries of rape towards an empty box that's been nailed to the floo…

Ayn Rand loves a good architect joke

"Mike, Mike do something." From somewhere far off an alarm, a klaxxon and several bells can be heard bouncing around. The big firehouse was constructed in the teens. A mule team and 6 drunk ignorants voted to do the job right but it still took three bricklayers a month apiece to even try. Finally after a couple of years they finished up and then the market crashed, "The masons never explain anything."
"No they never do."
"What," John Lurie is eating his own ghost again. There's some confusion and the waiter returns. CB and MB are next to him. They're talking about the kids when they look and see the smoke. Of course the server arrives with water. He's confused too, "Lemons?"
CB say's, "Mike, Mike do something now."
The kitchen is hot. The swinging door lets out great white puffs along with the occasional yelp from a frustrated busser but the dining room is getting even louder.
"I remember this," W…

Savages By Noon

Like this, the distance to the hills is as flat as a cosmic whale open to water, cupboard, and a tin of beans. So see it this way, over there isn't going anywhere soon. The days won't run as long as they should. Then some of its hours will fly right by. I've been waiting for the same dance after dinner for decades, bowl in hand. Here, hold this.  Now's the time for a proper clean up. Not so much as a peep, now it's for real. The UmperKunst and all of the little stone holes that bravely steward the line against the slippery edge of the darkness that's beyond the gathering veil. Where its hypocrisy is an endorsement from the rasping choir that is gathered around this pile of penises like it's a man ready for a drive. So many of us have been silent for so long. These are the people's resources, the tools of its culture and they should be persuaded to find within themselves a voice that's common and clear. But for the moment they're steadfast only,…

X marks the rhythm of the night

"Altogether there has to be at least four of them at the edge of the world of ideas," Edmund would say this and then pour himself another drink. You know he was an excellent haberdasher but Edmund's money, nearly all of it was borrowed. Mostly it came from people who were short, young, or gullible. In all fairness he would ask nicely and smile, using his best comma and a curly thing too."
"You're mad Esther."
"No, Edmund was very wealthy, even for a Superhero-Man that didn't work. Then he died but before that he was really tall and very thin. He also had a high forehead and three piercing blue eyes. I've read that he liked his houses like he liked his women, Queen Anne. This old house on top of this hill was built about 118 years before he died, still Queen Anne."
Sloan appears in the open door, "Did you get cigarettes yesterday?"
"Exchange," she said, "at least as you're picturing it, sounds pretty simple.&…