The apartment was different than I remembered. Not the building itself—that was the same tired facade, the same cracked walkway, the same buzzer that never worked quite right. But inside, the walls had shifted. The couch was where the dining table used to be. The kitchen had been painted a color I couldn’t name. It […]
The Pillow and the Blood-Eyed Woman Read Post »
There are dreams you wake from laughing, dreams you wake from screaming, dreams you wake from with your body still vibrating from the touch of a creature made of paralysis. And then there are dreams like this one. The dream that is not a nightmare, not a fantasy, not a revelation. The dream that is
The Summons at the Smokers’ Bench Read Post »
There is a house on Rosemary Street. It exists outside time, a fixed coordinate in the geography of memory and dream. In this house, conversations happen—about men, about nothing—and then, without warning, people are doing pushups on the floor. The absurdity is so pure, so complete, that it jolts you awake, laughing. This is the
The Paralysis at the Party Read Post »
The farm is not a place of growth. It is a launching pad for a sanctioned loop. It sits on the coast, pressed between the impassive mountain and the indifferent sea, a sliver of managed land from which all routes begin and end. There were three of us. The Instructor, who stood apart. My counterpart, who stood
The Loop at the Red Gate Read Post »
The place is not a location. It is a condition of possibility. It exists at the bottom of a descent, a deliberate climb down from the ordinary ledge. The “river” there is not water; it is the substrate of potential, a flowing, colorful logic where the rules are softer. In this place, I possessed a singular, elegant power:
The Wings and the Current Read Post »
There is an estate at the edge of all maps. You will not find it by traveling. You arrive by failing elsewhere. The estate is not a refuge. It is a taxonomic exhibit. Its grounds are curated not by a gardener, but by a ruthless, unconscious taxonomist. Here, the Dullahun rides its pointless perimeter, a headless
The Smirk at the Gate Read Post »
