Jeremy knew everything. He knew that Noam Chomsky viewed morality as either being a miracle or something innate like language. He knew that Emil Cioran heralded torment-fueled subjective experiences, and he knew all about George Kelly’s flexible personality theory based on changing personal constructs. Bryce despised Jeremy because he was a know-all. But then again, […]Read more "The know-all"
I wake up opposite a brownstone on some littered street. I have a terrible hangover, and I reach into my pocket and find a blue pill. I don’t know what it’s for, but I pop it. I know I need to solve a case. Some woman called Petunia (or is it Patricia?) was murdered last […]Read more "Disco Cop"
Jude woke each morning resigned, having given up on faith and hope. He yearned to forsake himself completely, rid himself of his soul, but he knew that just like every other human being he existed in two realms: the finite and the infinite, and though the body dies and decays, the soul lives forever. It’s […]Read more "Home"
My friend Nathan works in the field of biogenetics. He rarely speaks about his job, but four months ago, he asked me if I’d be interested in helping him with a project. I was a little reluctant at first but eventually agreed. The project involved three clones of me. Now, I’m not going to bore you […]Read more "The clones"
Arnold believed in the sanctity of innocence. He wanted the world to abandon its reckless, hedonistic ways and see things from a lens of impeccability. The violence, moral corruption and sexual impurity present in the world disgusted him. So, he decided to use his skills as an amateur filmmaker to restore the elegance that humanity […]Read more "Goat Dudes"
The day we broke up, the dying Sun was a blackish crimson like the color of menstrual blood. The only sounds heard were the incessant cawing of crows that sounded like the noises a lunatic in unendurable emotional throes makes. There was a slight drizzle, but it wasn’t like the soft healing rain that people […]Read more "Caged"
Sometimes I wonder if I live in an apartment or an oubliette. I mean, there’s a cushy couch, rose-colored chintz curtains, a PS4 with myriad games I haven’t played yet, cigarettes and wine, but there’s this sense of feeling imprisoned. Maybe it has to do with a non-existent purpose. There’s jazz playing in the background. […]Read more "Freudian Jazz"