Midwestern Gothic

the gang enjoys a beautifully sunny day off from their jobs at the malibu sands beach resort when zack discovers a mysterious mole on his back that may or may not be cancer. will the gang desert their friend in his time of need? or will they go the distance to make sure zack is as comfortable as possible as he confronts this threat, even under the ever-watchful eye of mr. carosi?

(more…)

his head smashed in like drywall, his eyes singing singsongs to me from their faraway perch and his breath escapes in shortening spasms. the metal typewriter poised in my veiny arms, i think of myself as some stoic figurine, gloating at what i’ve done. as his wriggling subsides, i clutch the manuscript. my story now.

i’ve become dust in the wind. a gate they all pass through, pass through to become who they really are. sifting sands come and go and here i am, quietly stoic in the desert, feet supplanted and hardly willing and able to move. they strike and still i stand. they climb up on me and i give them a boost. they stand triumphant at the top, looking onto the horizon, having tethered my battered and beaten body to get there, surveying the horizon. here they are, they declare, shoving me further into the fissure they have dug. and then, in the distance, a rider comes and sweeps them away and i, still standing, cracked and peeling in parts, the sand drifting up and around me in little eddies, have again become dust in the wind.

slater finds he is suddenly drafted into the military shortly after his eighteenth birthday. will a.c. find himself on the frontlines of a war he doesn’t want to be part of, or will zack help him realize his true, “fabulous” potential?

(more…)

down in the urinal lined tunnels below the green mill. big al capone empties himself using no hands. looks like rain, topside. two hulking thugs creep under the shadows to stand. one to the left. one to the right. mob boss turns his head. the suitcase drops. lock snaps. cash flutters out. big al smiles.

save em, before it’s too late. quit watchin and help already.

the cliff face shears off, embanked on both sides by her cosmic indignity. yet i press on. she laughs, she laughs at the very notion of it, and maybe she’s right.

but from where i’m standing, from up on high, it’s all over anyway.