crazyfish
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Everything posted by crazyfish
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As Alex shut the last door to Dimov’s apartment complex, he remembered with a twist at his side that he had wanted to tell him that parking in West Hollywood was a bitch. Then he skirted the front edge of the sidewalk facing a tight line of cars, looked up the road, down the road ... now, where had he parked his car? Sighing, he began the skipping saunter down the inclined sidewalk. Every couple feet, the pavement was broken by tree roots into slipshod tents. The dark rustled with the piney s
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One week done, another week to go
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The Saturday mornings begins as Luke crawls out of his bed at 8:20 am, stare at the mist and daze on his bathroom mirror for five minutes, then solve the mystery of toothpaste and toothbrush, and slap on clothes from a tilting pile of mephitic smells. At 8:40 he is figuring out that keys fit into the ignition. And then the five-mile drive to the Cheese and Mints Café is a freely meandering slog. Hao will have been waiting for at least fifteen minutes at the settee installed on the outside front
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During high school Luke brought peanut butter cookies daily for the members of the cookie table. Those days of baking three-dozen cookies weekly were long gone, even though his sweet tooth remained. And after his phone call with Hao, he brindled up with the aftertaste of his awkwardness, dabbing him with a vague need for the metallic-tasting peanut butter cookies sold at the front counter. Before he could stir, Brett informed him that Hao had amended his bargain, demanded the games be memorized
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Story Review Featured Story: A New Life
crazyfish commented on Trebs's blog entry in Gay Authors News
interesting story, the first few chapters read quickly. -
I won't pee on him, but I'd like him to make me a sammich.
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anyone?
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over 400 posts, a rep over 1100, Dear God, Sasha must be a lean mean machine!
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Ok, ok, I have a muse. It is my laptop. Its searing heat of the processor, the long and black space bar, the keys ticklish and sly to the touch. Those hard curves of its corners, its glistening shine. O, how much I love thee!
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What about KC = Kray Cray
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The story reads really good. I'm enjoying it.
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I agree, creepy but good!
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I don't understand the concept of a muse. Anyway, I have no muse.
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Lakes of translucent blue seeped over the cloudy landforms across the twilight sky. Movie night at the Hollywood Cemetery unfolded an affair of blankets, lawn chairs, coolers, and the occasional call and response of toddlers whining. Silent and stiff, Dimov, Winifred and her friends sat cross-legged on blankets, crooning their necks over grey heads in front of them. Charles was omnipresent to Dimov, tall with the palm trees pinheads against the sepia-toned air, rustling with the gritty-grey gh
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Csr Book Club Selection: The Degan Incident By Rob Colton
crazyfish commented on Cia's blog entry in Gay Authors News
The alien on the cover looks rather grumpy. -
Today was the day, the day to depart the labyrinthine segues of pity, the day to claim the wanton festive future, day one of the new Hao. He resolved to reclaim the lost raves, the lost bathroom fucks, the lost relationships where he should have been the mandarin asshole. Ricardo had done this to him, Ricky and his numerous dalliances in the guesthouse, his freezer full of stinky goat meat, his cds of bass-crazy reggaeton tracks; and his rotten message on the voicemail wishing sweet farewells, a
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Oh great another week gone. More weeks to go!
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I'm of the opinion that if your muse is doing your dishes, and perhaps you need to read more, read something engaging and inspiring. It always works for me.
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Great another cute boy singer with mediocre talent and tons of faux-ghetto attitude. What will the world think of next? In my day it was boy band frenzy, N-Sync, Backstreet. at least Justin Timberlake came out of the trash heap ok. I think I'll go back to listening to Marin Marais now.
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As they say in go, a rich man does not pick quarrels. But what is a rich man to do when his house is full of ghosts? An attack of prayers and holy water against the invasion might be too quarrelsome; a more pacifist solution might be a gun to the head or the more cathartic head bashing against a tree. These options looked harrowing to Luke Collier, not because dying was harrowing, but because he was a lazy fucktard. Actually he would object to ‘fucktard’ because his mother Lisa loathed foul lan
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Say it isn't so!
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The one annoying thing about being the non-drinker was being the default designated driver. There was Charles dragging Dimov off from the dinner table and towing him into his bedroom, and proclaiming, “Up, up, we’re going drinking.” Before he could scurry back to scrutinizing resumes on his laptop, Charles was flying through his drawers for the good shirt, the tight slacks, sending a zap of alarm through Dimov about the clothes askew on the floor. But Charles would not be refused. On the way to
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The stones were silent to him. Never in Hao’s thirty-two years of playing Go had this happened before. It should not have surprised him. The silence was bound to happen; it was natural in fact—as natural as the new scent laid on the back lawn yesterday. After all, life was vaster and more hopeless than the 10170 legal positions of a Go game. Anything was possible, literally. The sacred could be profaned. The joined could be unjoined. A heart, fertile and fruiting, could be stripped and sown with
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Luke's mired in guilt and grief over his mom's death. He finds hope in go game lessons from Hao, who's heartbroken. Luke wants to help Hao, but Hao doesn't want comfort. The lovelorn lawyer wants to play the aggressor in the game of love. And when something unexpected and forbidden sparks between them, Luke might just be his perfect lamb. Go's easy, but love's hard, very hard. What's Luke to trust: the power of love to heal or the power of love to destroy?
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Alex would say definitively that Frank was short—just to piss him off mostly—anything to get Frank’s auburn eyes to arc a hard and pretty left was always a win. In middle school, Alex tried to console Frank about his height with a tale of the little emperor Napoleon Bonaparte rampaging through Europe, to which Frank replied, “Who’s Napoleon?” And that was the start of a friendship. Several times, Alex thought he would never get to see Frank’s horrid bowl haircut again, like on the last day of
