Tall girl dressed in sleepy black with the blonde sorta pom pom hair sits at the bar while I do work lunch in a nearby booth. A glass of wine arrives for her. She kicks off her sandals avoids the cold round footrest and retracts a leg under her young ass. I wish I was …
Author Archives: frank
For Erik and Suhaill As Max Approaches
I’m not one for the divine preferring to live with the reality that the road we travel (the actual fucking road) dips and meanders not because there is a reason beyond but because an idiot was in charge of supervising the road workers. So I often ponder the potential very imperative biological necessity of the …
November 22, 2016
November 22, 2016 Cold on the way out this morning well, cold for 305 at just above 65 driving with the rear window frosted mostly with dirt. Two pastries and that just good enough Keurig coffee for breakfast. And the fiber pills. We mustn’t stop things from happening. At lunch I flew my quadcopter the …
I hate this place sometimes
I hate this place sometimes: the people it attracts, the things they throw in the streets, the paths they choose through traffic, the places they decide to park, eyes on no ball whatsoever. But this morning, in the shadow of one of the buildings at work, the air was perfectly kissing cool on my face, …
New Year And All That
I’m going to try to write once a week this year, for a couple of reasons. First, I often struggle with the “who gives a fuck about this”-ness of the act, but it’s interesting to look back on these key pecks from time to time. Second, my son is getting older and part of me …
Reaching
Where did the way go taking with it my fine steel? I used to I could cut you a picture of a kiss with my words and a little dancing town with my lines. I knew who I wanted to be and didn’t keep track of the bodies. Now I just wrote that sentence like …
That Blank Page Stare
I should’ve done a little bit more work on plotting. I really should’ve figured my ending out, which I never did and so there’s just all these disjointed scenes I have digital index cards for. I should be writing anywhere but here. But, NOW, of course, I want to go catch up on sketches. Or …
Sunday Morning
This is so pretty. For some reason, it reminded me of the guitary Radio Mambi guajiro music my dad used to tune to in the car on Sunday mornings, dragging me to go spread Jesus door to door. The calm before the weekly sweaty odyssey.
One of those times bedtime changed
There’s a thing we do every time I put you to bed, (even when you’re not at my place and I have to say goodnight over Facetime) after I’ve done the Optimus Prime voice and the roaring car sound while hugging you, and I nuzzle your nose and rub my facial hair all over your …
Because Casey
I got home and I sat in the bathroom, my baggy pants around my ankles and when I was done, I was like, man, I really just want to put on some shorts. But you can’t just shuffle like the fucking Penguin to where the shorts are from the bathroom. You put the pants on. You …