An Inhabitant Of Carcosa (1886)

For there be divers sorts of death -- some wherein the body remaineth; and in some it vanisheth quite away with the spirit. This commonly occurreth only in solitude (such is God's will) and, none seeing the end, we say the man is lost, or gone on a long journey -- which indeed he hath;… Continue reading An Inhabitant Of Carcosa (1886)

The Stitching Man

if you see the shrouds he's come to spin a yarn and thrum a drum to gift you with a mask so fine it can't but help to ease the mind The Stitching Man is a friendly sort so easy in his eccentric gait you'd never suspect the masks he wore were borne of another's… Continue reading The Stitching Man

The Photographer’s Dilemma (V)

When she arrived at Jamie's apartment she was surprised, it was far less expansive and glitzy than she had expected, given he was a friend of Calvin's. She knocked and Jamie quickly answered, smiling. "Hey, you alright." "No, not really, not at all." She went inside and was given a cup of coffee and sat… Continue reading The Photographer’s Dilemma (V)

The Photographer’s Dilemma (IIII)

Campbell returned home elated. Finally, after all her struggles, she would be having her first major gallery showing, at one of the premiere lounges in the city and on a weekend no less where the maximal number of people would be likely to show up. It wasn't just good, it was perfect. She moved sprightly… Continue reading The Photographer’s Dilemma (IIII)

The Photographer’s Dilemma (III)

The wicked droning of the club-speaker's drowned out all conversation, interaction was relegated to drunken glances and sensual movements. A communication of primal rhythm. Ariadne Campbell sat in the corner, starring sullenly at her half-empty glass. She could see them out of the corner of her eye. Dancing, kissing, rubbing, whispering about fucking. Her lip… Continue reading The Photographer’s Dilemma (III)

The Photographer’s Dilemma (II)

"That fucking bastard." Ariadne Campbell mouthed the words under mint and marijuana tainted breath as she beheld the large five foot by five foot drawing which hung upon the pure white wall of the gallery pulling all present eyes towards it with is grim and imposing majesty, even as it repelled with its stark audacity.… Continue reading The Photographer’s Dilemma (II)

Wicked Road

I recently re-discovered this, the very first short story I ever wrote (many, many years ago), and decided to publish it here. It is somewhat amateur, but I hope you will find it amusing. ◊ ♦ “Jet lag, mon ami?” Chester North did not recognize the jovial, drawling voice which had so suddenly pierced the… Continue reading Wicked Road