Oh, if and when you go there, stay for a while. Look into the nooks and crannies, and try to remember, you've got to come back out sometime, if only to go back again later, if you know what I mean.
Mischief Time
Immediate Family Finds All the Right Notes
One of the keys to their success was that early on someone in their circle of producers and artists, had the idea to list their names on the records they supported, unlike during the era of anonymity the Wrecking Crew worked in. And brother, did the hair grow, the word spread, and the work pile up.
From the Flash Stash IV: Story Board
As he said this, he began removing what appeared to be crumpled homemade flyers from my hands. They advertised Italian lessons at home and outboard motors for sale, charity 5ks and flower shows. And I held them in tightly clenched fists, like a crabby schoolteacher who snatches paper airplanes out of mid-air.
Here Comes Herodotus, Again!–Again!
Here Comes Herodotus, Again! (and other miscrohistories), is a forty-page chapbook comprised of 14 short stories which examine how life can be a series of swift mementos.
Another Opening, Another Show!
Tonight's theme is the Western, that hallowed, long past its heyday but not totally bygone (if I have anything to do with it), genre of Hollywood storytelling.
From the Flash Stash (III) : At the End of the Millennium (originally published in Open: Journal of Arts & Letters)
Surely, they are castaways now and although I cannot see them, I hear them chattering when I put my ear to the sea.
New story at Fictionaut
Scuttling on his knees now, he crossed to the other side of the boat and dropped the fish into a bucket of water. He knew what he had to do next.
The passing of Procol Harum’s In-house Poet and thoughts on other Rock n’ Roll Wordsmiths
To my teenage self, dizzy with wonder at the lyrics of “A Whiter Shade of Pale,” Keith Reid looked brainy and hip, which I didn’t know could be a thing, but there he was in band photographs, usually front and center, as if he was Mr. Procol Harum himself.
Flash Stash II: From the Files of August Strindberg: Stockholm, February, 1875
But tell me, did I not suffer a vision, that is to say, see something dreadful at my door?
The Kinks Turn Sixty: reflecting on 1968’s “Till Death Us Do Part”
The whole business makes me dippy, and honestly, I don’t care about any of it unless there’s some magic in the work itself, a spark in the melody or the lyric that will distinguish the work the way all great art is distinguished, by its timelessness and universal appeal. A song, for the sake of this argument, like the small wonder that is 1968’s, “Till Death Us Do Part.”
Just Between You and Me 